


Transparencies

by fabulousfreddie



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF, Queen (Band)
Genre: (I feel weird referring to Freddie as a character but y'know), Canonical Character Death, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, IT'S GOING TO GET HEAVY, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Panic Attacks, Realistic Reaction to Time Travel, THEY ARE GOING TO TALK ABOUT IT, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-10 09:37:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 39,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17423417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabulousfreddie/pseuds/fabulousfreddie
Summary: "[It] was both positively terrifying and wildly exhilarating.From what he could infer, their guest had somehow traveled from the future during his sleep cycle[.]"





	1. rami

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! I've spent too long on this to not publish it!
> 
> as the tags suggest, this gets a little heavy. I don't expect you to start bawling your eyes out (though you can if you'd like), but I'm not just going to skip over the elephant in the room during a self-serving time travel real person fic. its why there's a 'realistic reaction to time travel' tag. (you'll see what I mean in chapter three and chapter six.) rami's kind of an anxious mess in this whole thing ff, sorry rami

It was a wildly jarring sensation, going from lying down to falling to slamming his back into something with enough force to make him cry out. The vertigo got worse when gravity decided he hadn’t actually been falling _down_ , he’d been falling _sideways_ , and Rami slumped to the ground with a groan. The thing he’d hit had apparently been a _wall_ , and not the floor. However _that_ shit worked. It sure as hell _felt_ like he’d been sucked up and thrown down onto something. _Ugh, he was dizzy…_

 

He made himself stay upright with his throbbing back and shoulders flush to the wall he’d hit, worried if he jostled anything the pain would get worse. Raising a hand, he cradled his pounding skull and set about gently making sure there weren’t any bruises. He couldn’t feel any sore spots (and couldn’t feel any blood, either), and sighed in relief, moving his hand to rub his face. He felt disoriented, and it wasn’t a good feeling. His limbs felt horribly heavy.

 

He sat there for what felt like minutes, but was probably actually only a couple seconds, trying to regain his bearings when he heard voices. He couldn’t quite make them out – the ringing in his ears was too loud, which, oh boy, _that_ was a good sign – so he removed his hand so he could open his eyes (which, frankly, didn’t help much; all he could see were blobs). He’d probably just attracted someone from the crew. Or some _ones_ , rather, as there were three blobs standing above him that he could count.

 

Wait, he had… hadn’t he been in bed? It’d been dark out, he’d been… lying down… why was he outside?

 

_Oh, oh wow, dizziness getting worse, okay–_

 

He squeezed his eyes shut again with a grunt, lightly slapping his cheeks to try and snap out of it. _Snap out of what?_ Was he dizzy because he’d hit the wall too hard? How’d he hit a wall? _He’d just been in bed._ How’d he get outside? Had he sleepwalked? But when he’d opened his eyes it’d seemed bright out… had those been set lights? It hadn’t felt like it… And that wouldn’t explain how he’d been thrown into a wall like that, hard enough to bruise, at least. _And it’d felt like he was falling, not being thrown…_

 

“Hey, kid!”

 

Rami cringed away from the voice that was very close to his face and far too loud for comfort. It'd cut through the ringing, thankfully, but now everything was hyper sensitive and it had hurt to be shouted at from that range. “Don’t _yell_ ,” he whispered, his voice cracking on the second word, and heard the same voice snort, but, when they spoke again, they were quieter. Not very, but quieter.

 

“Look, have you got a concussion or something? We heard you hit the side of the barn – kind of hard to miss it, when you swear like that.”

 

 _Barn?_ What… Rami rubbed his eyes with his fists before opening them again. He squinted, trying to make out his surroundings and not succeeding very well. _That’s not good._ Stomping down any rising panic, he focused on the person who’d spoken, as they were the closest to him. He could see blond hair and pale skin, but the details were fuzzy, like an old photograph. He furrowed his eyebrows. “Ben?”

 

“Ben?” the blob repeated, a bit incredulous. He was interrupted by another one of the figures moving from behind to drag the blond a few feet away and take his place crouching in front of him. This one seemed a little clearer, and that hair was certainly recognizable. “Gwilym? Why’re you wearing your wig?”

 

“ _Wig_?” the blond figure from before said, high-pitched in disbelief with a note of laughter in his voice, and the person in front of Rami – Gwilym – was silent for a moment or two.

 

“Ah... let’s not worry about that right now,” he said. “ _Do_ you have a concussion?” He paused again, and turned to look at the two behind him. From what Rami could see, he could guess they were Ben and Joe, but he couldn’t imagine why they were wearing what they were. Had he woken up late? But then why had he hit the wall? Maybe he’d tripped? _No... no, that can't be right._ He’d hit the wall too hard to write it off as him having tripped. He couldn’t remember waking up and getting dressed, either...

 

He zoned back in when Gwilym asked the two, “Would he even know if he has a concussion?”

 

“Well, his head would be giving him a hell of a time right about now,” Ben said, before addressing Rami again with a louder voice over Gwilym’s shoulder. “What about it? Headache? Dizziness? Ready to pass out?”

 

Joe hissed something at him and elbowed him in the side, and Rami narrowed his eyes. “I don’t have any lumps on my head,” he said slowly. “I checked.”

 

“Well, that’s good, then,” Gwilym said under his breath, before Ben jutted in with, “Doesn’t mean you won’t have one later. Bruises take a bit to swell up, y’know.”

 

Rami was silent.

 

Because the more he thought about it, his voice really didn’t sound like Ben’s at _all_.

 

And, if he knew his castmates as well as he thinks he does, they definitely wouldn’t be acting this... _detached_.

 

His dizziness dissipated very quickly at the thought. “It’s my back that hurts,” he said. That was true, at least; he had a headache, likely more from the shock of impact on the rest of his body than having actually hit his head, but it didn’t seem to be sticking around. It was already going away. His vision wasn’t getting any clearer, though, which was more than mildly worrying. Gwilym was still blurry. He couldn’t even make out his face.

 

 _It has to be him, though, doesn’t it?_ Who else on set had hair like that?

 

Was he even _on_ set? Wouldn’t there be more people around?

 

_Barn?_

 

When Ben – _Ben?_ – spoke next, it sounded like he’d just grimaced. “Well, that’s not _ideal_.”

 

“I didn’t _break_ anything,” Rami insisted, looking between him and the-person-who-was-probably-Joe as if that would help their features get sharper. “I think I’d know if I broke something.”

 

“Alright, well...” the-person-who-was-maybe-Ben trailed off, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

 

The-person-who-was-probably-Joe spoke up for the first time to say, “Look, how about we just go inside, alright? We can handle everything else under a roof and with some furniture.”

 

The-person-who-might-be-Gwilym sighed, but no one protested, so he stood up and held a hand out to help Rami to his feet. It was slow-going, because his back did, as he’d said, _hurt_. It wasn’t excruciating, but standing was definitely a challenge. Every movement sent another jolt of pain rocketing through his upper body. He was enough of an adult to recognize that this might be a problem, and he might have panicked about it. “This isn’t good,” he choked out, and the probably-Joe maneuvered around to keep him upright with the might-be-Gwilym when he stumbled, while the maybe-Ben lead them into the barn.

 

He’d slammed into the wall of a barn.

 

It was as equally blurry as everything else he’d laid his eyes on, and he may have perhaps been breathing a little too quickly because of it. _Why can’t I see? Why can’t I see? Everything hurts and I can’t fucking see_ – and he was being sat down on a couch and people were talking, saying things to him, snapping their fingers in front of his eyes as if that would help, and he was being pushed down into a lying position and the ceiling was in front of him and he couldn’t even make out the fucking rafters and he was–

 

He was blinking awake back in his trailer, panting like he’d run a marathon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't be discouraged! here's a sneak peak at ch. 2:
> 
>  
> 
> _“I’m getting Freddie,” John said in a tone that brooked no argument, and took off back out of the barn. Roger made to follow, and nearly leapt out of his skin when Brian grabbed his elbow to hold him back._


	2. roger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I crave validation so here's the next chapter a whole week before I was going to post it

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Roger exclaimed, jumping back like he’d been burned and seeing Brian and John do the same out of the corner of his eye. It was silent for several tense seconds as they stared in disbelief at their new... _guest_ , who was fucking – _transparent_? Translucent, see-through, like a ghost, fading into the sofa, what the fuck, what the _fuck_ –

 

“Alright, I’m out,” he announced, throwing his hands up. “I’m out! First, he shows up out of fucking nowhere, then, he starts freaking out, and now, he’s passed out and is _blending into the bloody couch_ –”

 

“I’m getting Freddie,” John said in a tone that brooked no argument, and took off back out of the barn. Roger made to follow, and nearly leapt out of his skin when Brian grabbed his elbow to hold him back. He was about to tear him a new one, too on edge to keep his mouth shut, but Brian was staring at the kid with a very odd look on his face, and his teeth met with a click. He ripped his arm from Brian’s grip, but he didn’t seem to notice, so focused he was on the kid. He just edged closer and crouched beside him. Roger kept his distance, and rubbed his arms, feeling cold all over.

 

Then Brian raised one of his hands to the kid’s face.

 

Roger was already moving and dragging him back by the collar of his shirt before he knew he was doing it. “What the hell do you think you’re doing!?” he screamed at him, throwing him onto the floor and away from the fucking – the fucking _impossible thing_ on their couch. Lord, he could feel a migraine coming on. “Are you insane!? You don’t know what’ll happen if you touch him! You could die! _Die_ , Brian!”

 

“I won’t _die_ ,” Brian scoffed, sitting up and rubbing his throat with a sour look on his face.

 

“You could just as well!” Roger told him. “Who the fuck _knows_ what’ll happen! Maybe _you’ll_ pass out and turn half-invisible, too, ever think of that?”

 

“I doubt that, Rog.”

 

Roger bristled, and was gearing up for what would likely be a massive row when John returned with a disheveled-looking Freddie in tow. “John, really, I told you I was–” He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the kid on the couch.

 

John, however, was staring at him and Brian with a very particular expression. He was sure they looked quite guilty, with Roger standing over Brian in a rage and Brian sprawled on the ground. “And just what were you two doing? I was gone less than a minute!”

 

“He was going to touch him!” Roger defended himself, turning and hearing Brian getting to his feet behind him.

 

“Brian!”

 

“What!” Brian flung his arms out, nearly hitting Roger in the process and glaring at both of them. “What, are we supposed to just leave him until he ‘gets better’?” This was accompanied by finger-quotations. “I don’t know what’s going on either, but we have to do _something_!”

 

“ _No_ , we absolutely do _not_ ,” Roger argued. “He came out of nowhere! We would’ve heard a car, and there weren’t any when we went out anyway! And, what, he just decided to throw himself as hard as he could into the side of the barn? The doors were open! He could’ve just walked in! _And he didn’t even recognize us_! You heard what he was calling us! And he called your hair a _wig_!” Which was still funny, but now was not the time. He was on a roll. “He could’ve dropped out of the sky for all we know–!”

 

“What, an _alien_?” John said, positively incredulous. “You think he’s a bloody _alien_? Look at him!” He gestured in the vague direction of the couch.

 

Roger rounded on him. “And what’s your explanation, then? Hm?” When John sputtered and crossed his arms, he continued, “I’m just saying, we should leave it! It’s not our problem!”

 

“Rog, it became our problem the second we heard him hit the barn,” Brian said.

 

“No, it became our problem the second we went to investigate,” John sniffed.

 

“I mean really, Rog, we can’t just leave him on the couch and continue about our day,” Brian went on, waving off John’s comment. “And there has to be _some_ kind of explanation for his – er – _predicament_.”

 

“Like what?” Roger insisted. “I think my explanation makes more sense than anything _you_ could come up with – I mean, Christ, what kind of person just _fades_ –”

 

And then Freddie yelped, and they all turned their attention to him...

 

...only to find him sitting on the edge of one of the couch cushions, clutching one of the kid’s half-vanished hands in his.

 

All three of them could reasonably be described as having ‘freaked out a little’ over _that_ visual, and Brian, as the closest, reached over to tug Freddie away, but he just shook his head and slapped at him with his free hand. He had a very peculiar look on his face. “It’s fine! I’m fine, he’s just... very, very cold. _Very_ cold.”

 

They all took a collective breath and let it out. “Well...” John coughed, and they all moved closer. Brian stood beside Fred and stared at the kid’s face, while he and John stayed several decent steps away. He heard John swallow. Roger himself felt horribly out of his comfort zone. Partially because Freddie seemed to have no trouble keeping a grip on the kid’s hand despite the fact that it hardly looked like it was there at all. He kind of wanted to vomit. Everything from the kid’s blank expression to the way the edges of his body looked fuzzy, like they’d been drawn with graphite and then smudged, were grossly unnatural.

 

“What’s this about finding him outside, then?” Freddie asked, quiet, and he gave him and John an unreadable look.

 

He and John glanced at each other. Roger cleared his throat and motioned for John to explain. John shoved him hard with his shoulder, but dutifully took on the monumental task of trying to summarize the last twenty minutes or so, and Roger sighed in relief. “A few minutes after you’d left, we heard a great bang and someone shout outside, so we went to investigate. We found him” – Here, he gestured to the kid. – “leaning up against the wall. Looked right out of it, so we were going to bring him inside, see if he had a concussion or anything like that, but he started panicking once we got in. We got him on the sofa, tried to snap him out of it, but nothing worked, and then he – well...”

 

“Then he passed out and turned into _that_ ,” Roger finished.

 

John shoved him again. “Don’t call him a _that_ ,” he hissed.

 

Roger opened his mouth to restart the argument about whether or not the kid was an alien after all, as he felt it had some merit, but Freddie interrupted them again; “And what was the bit about him not recognizing you?”

 

Brian answered that one; “He couldn’t seem to see very well. Called Roger ‘Ben’, and me ‘Gwilym’.” His tone turned somewhat petulant. “And he asked why I was wearing a _wig_.”

 

This was met with Freddie saying, “oh, dear” under his breath and Roger coughing to hide his laugh. He saw Brian shoot him a glare that he very deliberately ignored. “ _Well_ ,” Brian began loudly, “if we _can_ touch him, I don’t see why we shouldn’t be trying to wake him up.”

 

“Oh, Brian, don’t–” John said, taking a step forward, but Brian was already reaching over to shake the kid’s shoulder–

 

–and lurching back with a curse, shaking out his hand. Roger stared, vaguely aware of his mouth dropping open in shock, whereas Freddie called out his name in surprise and John moved over in about two strides to grab Brian’s hand. From what Roger could see, it didn’t _look_ any different, but Brian was still grimacing in pain. “Jesus _Christ_ ,” he said with a rough voice. “I thought you said he was just _cold_!” he addressed Freddie, who looked stricken.

 

“He – he was! He is!” he insisted. He was still holding the kid’s hand, with both of his own, now, and stared at where they were touching with wide eyes.

 

“It felt like I’d just gotten electrocuted!” Brian told him.

 

“Well that’s certainly not what _I_ felt!”

 

“ _You_ try and wake him up then!”

 

“Maybe I will!” But Freddie didn’t move, just swallowed thickly and continued staring at their clasped hands. Brian gave his back a push – a relatively gentle one, since Roger could tell he was still feeling a bit angry – and Freddie scowled at him before clearing his throat and reaching over to shake the kid’s shoulder the way Brian had.

 

Nothing.

 

Freddie did it again with a muttered, “oh, come on” this time – but, again, nothing. The kid remained unnaturally still. Roger moved closer as Freddie brought his leg up under him and leaned over to lightly slap the kid’s cheek. “Come on, darling, you’re leaving us hanging here,” he said with an annoyed knot in his brow, but it didn’t make a difference. The kid was still just as dead to the world as he’d been five minutes ago.

 

Freddie sat back on his haunches and swept his gaze over all three of them. “You didn’t happen to catch his name before he fainted, did you?” he asked flatly.

 

Roger winced. “Er... no.”

 

“Of course not.” Freddie huffed. He cleared his throat again and went back to leaning over to see if shaking him anywhere else would work better. His hand was back on the kid’s face, cupping his cheek and turning it this way and that. “Good lord, how old is he, anyway?” he said lowly, and rubbed his thumb under the kid’s eye.

 

Which, of course, is when he woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sneak peek of ch. 3:
> 
>  
> 
> _It felt like being sucked through a tunnel and spat back out without being able to move. Not quite as violent as the first time, he supposes, especially considering he didn’t hit anything in the process (which was a plus), but it was just as disconcerting._


	3. rami

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is when things start getting 'heavy'. its not SUPER sad, just kind of uncomfortable (the saddest by far is chapter six, imo), but I added new tags for a reason. THIS IS WHEN THE 'REALISTIC REACTION TO TIME TRAVEL' TAG COMES INTO PLAY, I'm sorry rami ff

It felt like being sucked through a tunnel and spat back out without being able to move. Not quite as violent as the first time, he supposes, especially considering he didn’t hit anything in the process (which was a plus), but it was just as disconcerting. His eyes slammed open and his body jolted awake so suddenly that he arched his back and cried out. His muscles felt like they were spasming, and even though the sensation faded within moments it left him gasping for breath. He heard several someones curse and the warm touch that had been on his cheek disappeared as quickly as he’d registered it.

 

The first thing he genuinely noticed, though, was that he could _see_ now, as the rafters he vaguely remembered being blurry before were now in sharp focus.

 

Wait.

 

_Rafters?_

_Wait–_

 

He shut his eyes and made a physical effort to calm down, squeezing the hand he could feel holding his tighter to have something to ground him. Whoever it was added their other hand to the pile and started rubbing his knuckles, which helped.

 

 _Okay. Okay. Alright._ He was... back. Here? _Barn._ Barn, right, barn. _Ben?_ Gwilym. _No, that’s not right._ He was in bed. Yes, he was just in bed. _He’d been here before. He was just in bed._ He’d woken up and went to get a glass of water, and had gotten back in bed and fallen asleep. That had happened. He’d been breathing like a race horse, and been sweaty as hell, but he remembered it. He’d drunk a whole glass and refilled it before climbing back under the covers. _And now he was here._ In a barn. With...

 

He opened his eyes again and looked over to where he could see movement. Instead of three blobs of color, there were four distinct people. The maybe-Ben, probably-Joe, and might-be-Gwilym from before ( _from before?_ ) were standing and staring at him like he’d grown a third head – not even a second one, a third one – but now that his vision wasn’t failing on him ( _thank god_ ) he could actually make out their features.

 

And oh, boy, they certainly weren’t Ben, Joe, or Gwilym.

 

But he definitely recognized them.

 

Oh, he recognized them, alright.

 

Swallowing around the dryness in his mouth, he turned his gaze to the fourth member of this very strange get together, and the only one who was sitting down. This was also the individual who was holding his hand.

 

Rami locked eyes with Freddie Mercury, and slowly, carefully sat up without breaking eye contact. The man leant back a little once he was upright, but didn’t back down from the staring contest. Nor did he let go of his hand. Nice of him, Rami supposed.

 

His back didn’t hurt anymore.

 

Rami cracked his neck loudly, and announced, quite confidently, “I’m dreaming right now.”

 

Roger Taylor let out a half-whine, half-hysterical-laugh, and Rami saw him turn on his heel and bend at the waist to put his hands on his knees and just think about life. John Deacon looked about as blank-faced as one could get, but Brian May looked flabbergasted. “ _You’re_ dreaming?”

 

Rami just nodded, closing his eyes again. “Mhm. I’m going to wake up back in my trailer any second now–”

 

“Your _trailer_?” Roger choked out.

 

“Hey, you’re my subconscious; you don’t get to sound incredulous about me having a trailer,” Rami said, ignoring when Roger spluttered, yes, incredulously.

 

His hand was squeezed again and Rami flinched harshly. “ _Don’t_ ,” he got out between clenched teeth. He couldn’t see what Freddie Mercury’s face looked like, but he stopped squeezing, and just held his hand instead. Even that was a bit much. “I don’t even know why I’m fucking dreaming of this,” he spat out suddenly, rubbing his free hand over his face. “We’re already filming. Brian and Roger gave us their blessing. _Why is this so real_.” His voice may have cracked over that last sentence because he might have been feeling a bit emotional right now, but that was neither here nor there.

 

Dreaming of meeting Freddie Mercury. Good Christ. That had to be at least a _little_ disrespectful, right?

 

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to explain a bit further, dear,” Freddie Mercury told him in a very soft voice, the kind of voice someone used when trying to calm a frightened animal, and Rami laughed, high and short.

 

“’Have to explain’,” he repeated, in a tone that conveyed there was more humor in the situation than there actually was. “You’re in my head; you should _know_ all this already.”

 

“Humor me, then,” Freddie Mercury said.

 

Rami let his free hand fall into his lap and opened his eyes just to roll them, then immediately lowered them to where he was still holding hands with Freddie Mercury. He could feel the callouses on his fingers, the ridges of his knuckles, the faint beat of his heart through his skin. _Too real. Too real._ He couldn’t look away.

 

He decided to humor him. Maybe if he talked long enough, he’d wake up and not have to think about this ever again, and be able to look Brian and Roger in the eye the next time they came to set.

 

“I have a trailer because I’m filming a movie,” he said, baring his teeth at how thick his voice sounded. He cleared his throat. “A Queen movie. About Queen. The band.”

 

“Queen,” he heard Brian repeat in a monotone, and spared him a glance. He looked to be making an effort to stay expressionless. John Deacon had one hand over his mouth and the other wrapped around his stomach. Roger was pacing back and forth running his hands through his hair and making it an even bigger mess.

 

“Queen,” Rami parroted, then turned back to his and Freddie Mercury’s clasped hands. “So I’ve met with you and Roger quite a few times, I’ll have you know. You’re both so–” Here, he waved his free hand around in the air. He had no idea how to describe Brian and Roger to Brian and Roger.

 

“We’re both so _what_?” he heard Roger squawk, and Rami shrugged, frustrated.

 

“I don’t know, private? You’re both almost twice my age, I don’t know–”

 

“ _Twice your age_?” Brian was really going all out with just repeating what he said in a more outrageous tone of voice.

 

Roger barked out a laugh. “You can’t be older than twenty-five, kid, so we’re, what, fifty-something in this imaginary reality of yours?”

 

Rami rolled his eyes, and glared at the younger version of the man he actually knew. “I’m thirty-six, thanks.”

 

“Oh, bull _shit_.”

 

“I shouldn’t have to explain myself to you!” Rami burst out, pointing at him accusingly. “ _I’m_ dreaming this – I should – I should be–”

 

Freddie Mercury grabbed this hand and pulled it down to clasp with his other. The man couldn’t seem to keep himself from rubbing his knuckles. _Why do I think he’d rub my knuckles?_ Rami stared down Roger, and felt some satisfaction when he raised his hands and backed off.

 

“Well, seeing as this is getting nowhere fast, how about I tell you what _I_ saw when _I_ walked in, hm?” Freddie Mercury suggested, and Rami glanced at him. He then immediately bowed his head. Seeing the man’s face without the graininess of old photographs had made a lump form in his throat. _Don’t look. Don’t look. Too real. He’s dead. He’s touching you. You shouldn’t be dreaming about meeting a dead man._

 

“I saw a stranger lied out on our sofa, looking for all the worlds like a ghost,” Freddie Mercury continued. “You weren’t all the way there, darling. You were...”

 

“Transparent,” Brian offered.

 

“See-through,” Roger added.

 

“It was like you’d had half the color sapped out of you,” John Deacon put in his two cents. “We could see you, and see the couch _through_ you. And you were just...” A pause.

 

“Unresponsive,” Brian finished.

 

“Creepy, is what it was,” Roger snorted.

 

“I still can’t believe you thought he was an alien,” John Deacon said under his breath, and Roger whipped around to punch his arm, but Rami wasn’t paying attention. He was staring into his lap like it could possibly answer the questions that had popped into his head when _that_ piece of information’d been shared, and jumped when Freddie Mercury shifted, eyes darting to him. He, too, was staring at his knees. It was easier to look when he wasn’t looking back, but it was still... uncanny.

 

“I was able to touch you,” he said softly, which stopped the argument. “But Brian wasn’t. He got a shock. I’m not sure why.” He tried to make eye contact with Rami, then, and Rami allowed it for a few seconds before swallowing and shaking his head. He stared at Freddie Mercury’s chest, then, deciding to memorize the pattern on his shirt. It wasn‘t one of the ones they had on set. “To be frank, my dear, that doesn’t sound like something that happens during just a _dream_.”

 

Rami...

 

...didn’t know what to think.

 

After all, this couldn’t be anything _but_ a dream.

 

It had to be, right? Right. A dream. It was a dream.

 

_Too real. Too real._

 

Freddie Mercury’s hands were warm.

 

_How were they warm?_

 

“I was just in _bed_ ,” he said, and hated how it came out. He blinked rapidly, and took a shaky breath. “I was just – I – I had – I got up, and got a glass of water, then went back to sleep. I was _asleep_. This can’t be–” _Real_. He’d _never_ had a dream like this. As detailed as this. Where he could feel pain. Could feel warmth. Never. _Never._

 

He could _feel Freddie Mercury’s heartbeat._

 

“ _Shit–_ ”

 

“Oh, darling,” Freddie Mercury said, and Rami burst into tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sneak peak of ch. 4:
> 
>  _Roger looked on the verge of_ something _, John seemed to be in the process of talking himself out of and talking himself_ into _believing the situation, and Fred was the only one who was trying to take it all in stride. He was putting up a good front, but even Freddie wasn’t_ that _good._


	4. brian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again, my apologies to mr. malek for putting him through so much stress. that's my bad, that's on me

“Alright,” Brian said.

 

It had, admittedly, taken some time for their guest to calm down. Brian supposes that was reasonable. He was willing to bet that he _wasn’t_ a product of their guest’s imagination, and that, therefore, this was all actually happening, somehow, some way, which was both positively terrifying and wildly exhilarating. From what he could infer, their guest had somehow traveled from the future during his sleep cycle, which _had_ to be hard to comprehend. Brian wasn’t even the one who’d done the traveling, and _he_ was having trouble wrapping his head around it. The fact that the strange transparency they’d seen had been him while he was awake in his world, or his time, was equally jarring.

 

Roger looked on the verge of _something_ , John seemed to be in the process of talking himself out of and talking himself _into_ believing the situation, and Fred was the only one who was trying to take it all in stride. He was putting up a good front, but even Freddie wasn’t _that_ good.

 

A time traveler.

 

Alright.

 

“Alright,” he said again, just to make sure everyone was listening. They had all decided to sit, but Freddie and their guest were still the only ones on the couch, though they’d rearranged themselves to be sat on it properly, now, facing all of them. Freddie’s arm was around the poor boy’s shoulders, who was bent over with his head in his hands. He wasn’t crying anymore, but he didn’t look good. (Who would, though, really.) “I think... we need to talk about this.”

 

“ _No_ , really?” Roger gasped, and Brian sent him a glare.

 

“Roger,” Freddie warned, which _did_ shut him up. He looked at least moderately contrite.

 

Their guest sniffled, rubbed his eyes one last time, then lowered his hands. Brian winced; he looked... terrible, frankly. John handed him a handkerchief, which he took after a few seconds’ deliberation to wipe at his eyes and nose. He then crumpled it up and clenched it in his fist.

 

Brian opened the discussion; “What – er – what... _year_ , are you from?” He very calmly ignored the way Roger said, “ _oh_ my god” under his breath and absolutely did not push at him like a child.

 

“Better question,” Freddie said, looking at the boy with sympathy. _The boy._ Christ, was he really thirty-six? “What’s your name, dear? I _can’t_ believe no one’s asked you yet. Here we are, with you knowing all our names...”

 

He just huffed out a pained laugh. “Rami,” he said. “Rami Malek. Oh, god.” He lowered his face back into his hands and mumbled something that sounded like, “I’m telling Freddie Mercury my name”, which at least had Freddie blushing at bit. Their guest – Rami – straightened back up as if nothing had happened and cleared his throat. “I – um – its... 2017, where I come from.” He winced at the phrasing, and massaged his temples.

 

Roger whistled, and Brian blinked in shock. “Jesus,” John muttered, running a hand through his hair, and Freddie said, “Good lord, that’s...” He was quiet for a few moments. “That’s... _forty years_ from now?!”

 

Rami just nodded. He looked drained. “If I’ve got the timeline right, it should be sometime in the mid-seventies right now, right?”

 

Brian nodded back, shutting his mouth with a click. _Okay. 2017. 2017._ That was certainly _a_ year.

 

“I _have_ to be dreaming, don’t I?” Rami said. It sounded more like a plea. “I can’t actually be... you know...” He swallowed. “I mean, really, I was in bed _ten minutes_ ago.”

 

“I could slap you, if you’d like,” Freddie offered tartly, and Brian was tempted to laugh, but Rami just shook his head and wrapped his arms around himself.

 

“ _Please_ don’t,” he insisted. “It’s just...”

 

“We know,” Brian said, trying to sound soothing without being condescending. “We’re a bit out of sorts, as well, but we might as well try and figure out what’s happened, yeah? Take it all as it comes?”

 

“I guess...” 

 

“Any ideas on what could’ve caused something like this, then?” Roger said, looking between all of them inquisitively. When no one offered anything up, he said, “My money’s still on aliens. All for?” He raised his hand.

 

John reached over and lowered his hand for him. “It’s not _aliens_ , Rog.”

 

“You don’t know that,” he said conspiratorially, making John roll his eyes and Freddie huff. “Say!” He perked up again, pointing at Rami. “ _You’re_ from the future; are there aliens there?”

 

“ _Roger_!” John and Freddie both scolded.

 

“There’s not, no,” Rami told him. Brian saw the corner of his mouth twitch – the closest they’d gotten to making him smile since he’d showed up. Roger groaned loudly in disappointment, but Brian could tell he was overdoing it; he was just trying to cheer the kid up a little. “At least, not that _we_ know,” Rami continued, in much the same tone Roger had put upon earlier. He was clearly embellishing. “Who _knows_ what politicians are up to these days.” Then he winced, and shrunk in on himself again. “Or... those days. My days, I guess.”

 

“Oh, don’t fret over something like that, dear,” Freddie said. “God knows this isn’t something you can get used to in a day, let alone thirty minutes. You’re going to slip up at least once. It happens. Besides, _I_ certainly wouldn’t mind hearing more about the future; gives me something to look forward to, you know.”

 

“Yeah, neither would I!” Roger said, seemingly missing the flinch Rami had let loose when Freddie had brought up his – er – timeline, for lack of better term. He and John shared a look with each other, and he saw Freddie furrow his eyebrows, having felt it through where he still had his arm over Rami’s shoulders. “For example, I, for one, would like to know more about this film you’re doing. Who’s playing me? Is it that Ben bloke you mistook me for?”

 

If Rami hadn’t been comfortable with Freddie talking about the future, he _really_ wasn’t comfortable with Roger bringing up the film he was in. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and went pitch white. “Oh, _god_ ,” he said tightly. “I shouldn’t’ve said that–”

 

“Nonsense!” Freddie exclaimed. “We would have found out eventually, anyway, if it’s going to be about us!”

 

“Fred, not helping,” John sighed, because Rami had whimpered pitifully at the words and hidden his face back in his hands. Freddie looked immediately guilty, but Roger spoke up again before he could apologize.

 

“Look, we’re obviously going to be making this thing at some point – in the distant future, yes, but at some point nonetheless. It’d be good to know the details, so we don’t fuck anything up! Am I _wrong_?” he implored Brian, who raised an eyebrow.

 

“As far as I’m concerned, if we did it right the first time, we probably won’t do it wrong the second,” he stated, making Roger huff something that sounded like “spoilsport”. “Rami is clearly uncomfortable talking about it,” he said with a frown. “Be considerate.” A bit hypocritical of him to say, he has to admit, since he may or may not have been planning on asking the same questions and then some before Rami’d reacted the way he had. He wasn’t going to risk triggering a panic attack in the kid just to satisfy his own burning curiosity.

 

Roger apparently did not have the same filter. “What does he have to be uncomfortable for?” he asked. “It’s just a film. Ohh, maybe he offended one of us and we’re not on speaking terms. That would be terribly awkward...”

 

“Roger...” Brian said, shaking his head. It felt kind of wrong to be talking about him as if he wasn’t there, but Rami didn’t seem to be listening all that closely, if he was being honest.

 

“Well, I _doubt_ it was me, if that’s what it is,” Freddie spoke up. He still had a concerned tilt to his brow, but was doing his best to seem unbothered. “It was probably _you_ , Roger – I heard you almost destroy the coffee machine earlier.” He continued before Roger could get a word in edgewise through all his indignant sputtering; “I would _love_ Rami. He’s delightful! Do I, dear?”

 

Rami was silent for several long seconds, before sucking in a breath and letting it out slowly. “...I’d like to think so, Mr. Mercury,” he settled on through his hands, and Freddie made a face. Brian furrowed his eyebrows. _‘I’d like to think so’?_

 

“ _Mr. Mercury_?” he repeated, outraged. “Good lord, I don’t make you call me that, do I? That’s horrid – you’re a lovely boy. Er, well, you are older than me, I suppose...”

 

“I still can’t believe you’re thirty-bloody-six,” Roger scoffed. “Unbelievable. Does _everyone_ in the future look that young?”

 

“Roger, really, do you _ever_ listen to yourself when you talk?” John asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

“What? It’s a legitimate question!”

 

“It is _not_ a legitimate question–”

 

“And what’s this about not knowing if I like you or not?” Freddie cut through their argument. He sounded troubled. Brian saw Rami stiffen. “I’m certain I do. I would tell you if I didn’t. And I doubt you’d be a part of the film if one of us _didn’t_ like you. You should ask me when you wake up again.”

 

Rami let out a wheezing laugh. “We, uh, we – don’t exactly _talk_. Much. We don’t talk much. You and I.”

 

“What? Why not?” Freddie sounded horribly confused. “If you're working on a film about us you _must_ speak with us _sometimes_ \- and certainly, if you're here now, we’ll remember it later, won’t we?” Rami was just shaking his head. “Why wouldn’t we? I think we’d remember a young man toppling in out of nowhere, claiming he was from _2017_ , of all things–”

 

“ _Because you_ –!” Rami shouted, flinging his hands out, before leaping to his feet like something had stung him and walking off. They all stared after him in shock as he started to pace like he intended to wear a path through the floor. His hands kept going from pulling his hair to tugging on the collar of his shirt, all nervous tics he couldn’t control.

 

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. His actions spoke for themselves. Brian’s brain was going a mile a minute before it clicked, and, when it did, he literally had to hold himself upright. There were a hundred things he wanted to say, to ask – the hows, the whys, the _whens_ – but the only thing that came out of his mouth was a choked grunt. That got Roger’s attention, at least, because he whipped his head around and said, a bit shaken, “What? What, what is it?"

 

It got Rami’s attention, too, because he whirled around with wide eyes that immediately locked on Brian. “ _Don’t_!” he ordered, pointing at him. “Don’t! Don’t say a word, don’t–”

 

“Don’t what?” Roger demanded, jumping to his feet and looking between he and Rami with very clear frightened concern written on his face. Fred and John were both frozen in place. “Don’t _what_? What are you not telling us?”

 

Brian stared as Rami jerked back like he’d been slapped and opened his mouth, either to spout off some terrible excuse or lie or deny it all, before the sound of a loud car engine came from outside, and all movement stopped.

 

“That’s Paul,” John said into the sudden silence.

 

They had company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sneak peak at ch. 5:
> 
>  
> 
> _Freddie leapt from the couch, reaching Rami in three strides and grabbing his wrist. “Come on; we’ve got to get you out of here.”_


	5. freddie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just learned that paul was actually apparently not hired until 1977! so just pretend that he was actually hired before that for the purposes of this fic lmao
> 
> there is also the introduction of a plot device in this chapter that you may or may not appreciate, but hey. its a fic. fics have plot devices. this is a relatively feel-good chapter, though (before the next, anyway, ff)
> 
> also, in case you didn't notice, I added like five more chapters to this fic lmao, and there'll probably be at least one or two more after those as I FINISH-finish it all up properly ;)

Freddie leapt from the couch, reaching Rami in three strides and grabbing his wrist. “Come on; we’ve got to get you out of here.”

 

“What?” Roger and Brian said at the same time, in much different tones. Roger sounded outraged, but Brian... well. Freddie never wanted to hear that tone of voice from him again.

 

“If Paul walks in and sees Rami here, there are going to be questions,” Freddie told them, already tugging his tagalong to the barn’s side door, on the other side by the kitchen nook. “Questions that, frankly, I don’t want to answer. Do you?”

 

Neither of them said anything to that, just watched as he went to leave. Rami was shaking in his grip. “Fred,” John called, “Take him to the house; I’ll try and, ah, clean up, yeah?” That sentence had more connotations than one would think; _I’ll talk to Bri and Rog. I’ll distract Paul. I’ll keep Rog’s mouth shut. I’ll snap Bri out of it. I’ll do my best to have Paul out of here before nightfall._ He really was a miracle worker.

 

He turned to send John a grateful look. “Thank you, love. Now, come along, Rami, we need to be quick about this,” he addressed his tagalong, who was staring at where Freddie was holding his wrist and not blinking.

 

The moment they exited the barn, Freddie hustled them over to peek around the corner of the building. Paul was just parking his car. He heard Rami let out a disgusted snort, and glanced over to see him glaring at Paul like he was worth less than the dirt under his shoe, which just raised a hundred new questions to go along with the ones that had sprouted up earlier, all of which he had to viciously stamp down. The poor thing had had a horrible reaction the last time he’d asked them, and, so long as he had a say in it, he was going to do his damnedest to not bring on a reaction like that again.

 

Once Paul had slipped into the barn and he could hear he and John start talking, he tugged on Rami’s wrist again and they jogged the rest of the way to the house. The moment the door was shut behind them, they both let out heavy sighs of relief. Rami sunk down to the floor and scrubbed both hands over his face hard enough to leave the skin pink. Freddie pushed his hair back and looked around without really seeing anything. “If John manages to convince him I don’t want to be bothered right now, we may very well be in the clear.”

 

“Has that ever worked?” Rami asked, dropping his hands back into his lap and looking up at him with one open eye.

 

Freddie shrugged disinterestedly. “A few times. Paul seems convinced I’m the _lyrical genius_ of the band,” he said with a sneer. “Heaven knows why. If John phrases it right, it’ll sound like I’m in a song-writing frenzy. ‘Don’t want to be disturbed’, you see. If we’re lucky, we’ll be left alone until he leaves, which will unfortunately likely be hours from now.”

 

“Why don’t you just leave me here and meet back up with them outside? It’d keep him from getting suspicious.”

 

“And leave you here to wallow for hours on end with no company? I think _not_ ,” Freddie stated plainly, tutting. “This is a stressful situation all around and the _last_ thing you need right now is to be left to your own devices to overthink things. We’d probably come back to find you in the throes of a panic attack unable to _breathe_.”

 

Rami grimaced, but didn’t argue, so he probably agreed with his judgment. Freddie held out his hand again. “Now come on, we’ve got to get you upstairs. If John _doesn’t_ manage to put Paul off, we’ll be having a visitor, and you can’t be out in the open like this.”

 

Rami rolled his eyes, at that, but grabbed his hand for the leg up, anyway. They were halfway up the creaky staircase when he spoke again; “I’m sorry.”

 

Surprised, Freddie paused to peer over his shoulder at him. He was staring into space again, opening and closing his fist. “I’m sorry I...” He swallowed, looking to the side. “Freaked out like that.”

 

“Rami, dear, you don’t need to apologize for anything!” Freddie told him firmly. “We all understand how... well, how _outrageous_ this whole situation is. If I were in your shoes, I can't even begin to fathom how _I’d_ react. And we’re only being affected secondarily – I can’t imagine how it must feel for _you_ , and _you’re_ going to be able to wake up after all this!” He paused, then tapped his chin. “Or perhaps we’re _all_ dreaming, actually...” he wondered out loud. That would be an entirely different rabbit hole to go tumbling down if _that_ was the case.

 

“Mr. Mercury, _please_ , I don’t wanna talk about dreams anymore,” Rami said stiffly, and Freddie winced.

 

“Right. My apologies, dear. And really, call me Freddie. _Mr. Mercury_. Bah!” He waved his hand dismissively, then motioned to the upstairs landing. “But that conversation can wait until we get to my room. Walk, walk!”

 

Rami didn’t speak again until _that_ door was shut (and locked) behind him, and Freddie saw his jaw drop before he shut it again as quickly as it’d happened. He stared at the bed and wallpaper with something like awe. “It really looked like this?” he muttered, walking towards the bed and poking it with one finger. Freddie, somewhat selfishly, didn’t interrupt, too curious about what else Rami would say (or, rather, let slip). His silence bore no fruit, however, as Rami just removed his hand and tucked them both under his arms. He had an expression Freddie couldn’t quite decipher on his face, and he was biting his bottom lip very, very hard, so Freddie just stepped further into the room to sit at the piano.

 

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” he said, gesturing to the bed. “Sit, _please_. You’re making me anxious.”

 

Rami looked like he wanted to protest, but Freddie stared him down until he huffed and sat on the very edge of the mattress. _Good enough._ What he _didn’t_ expect was for him to let out a surprised noise, and Freddie blinked at him when he started digging around in the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a black rectangle. “Holy _shit_ ,” he said with relish, twisting it this way and that as though he were inspecting it before poking at it with his thumb. “Why do I have my _phone_?”

 

“Your _phone_?” Freddie parroted, incredulous. Rami looked up, as if he’d forgotten he was there (which stung a little, he had to admit), before looking back down at the rectangle. “That device is a _phone_?” That couldn’t _possibly_ be right. Technology hadn’t gotten _that_ far in forty years, had it?

 

“Yeah,” Rami said, sounding more enthusiastic than he had all day. He was even smiling a bit. “Do you want to see – here, look–” He got back up from the bed and came around to stand at Freddie’s shoulder, lowering the rectangle for him to look at.

 

It was very colorful, was the first thing he noticed. There were little squares with little logos on them, and Rami was pointing at a green one that had a white telephone on it. “You tap this and you can call people. You tap this” – He pointed to another square, also green, but this time with a comic book speech bubble on it instead of a telephone. – “and you can text people.”

 

“Text?” Freddie questioned, raising an eyebrow. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but if each of those squares had a different function he couldn’t even _begin_ to guess how something so small could handle that much output.

 

“Yeah, look–”

 

“Darling, just sit, you’re going to make yourself sore if you keep leaning over like that,” Freddie insisted, scooting over to give Rami enough room on the bench. He was pleasantly surprised when he did so without question. He’d expected at least _some_ pushback, as that was what Rami had been doing since he’d arrived, but his... _phone_ had evidently thoroughly distracted him. Good; anything to keep him from walking on eggshells any further, as far as he was concerned.

 

“Look,” Rami said once he was settled, their knees bumping together. He was holding out the rectangle again, and Freddie saw the – screen? – had turned predominantly white. When he looked closer, he could see gray text as well. Names, sentences, arrows, some yellow smiley faces that didn’t quite look like the yellow smiley face _he_ recognized. Rami tapped it again, and the screen changed once more to display some colored speech bubbles full of text and more of the smiley faces.

 

“These are text messages,” Rami explained. “It’s basically what it sounds like: you have someone’s phone number, and you can send them messages without having to call them. You type it out, like on a computer.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah, like, this is a thread between me and my friend Joe,” Rami said, swiping his thumb down on the screen and having the messages that had been there disappear and different ones take their place. At the top of the screen, in black text, was just the word ‘mozzarella’ in all capital letters. He decided not to ask. “He plays John Deacon in the movie–”

 

“Does he really?” Freddie exclaimed, thrilled. “Oh, is he a good fit? I hope so – John really doesn’t get enough credit, you know–”

 

“I’d like to think so,” Rami said. “And I’m not just saying that because he’s my friend. Joe’s a great actor.”

 

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Freddie gushed, raising a hand to cup his jaw. “Does he look anything like him? I can’t imagine them casting a _blond_ for the part–”

 

“Uh, no, he’s not blond,” Rami said with concealed laughter in his voice, and pressed a button on the lower end of the rectangle – the only actual button that Freddie could see, in fact. It brought them back to the original screen, the one with all the squares. This only lasted for a moment, however, as Rami tapped another icon – a white one with a colorful circle on it – and they were looking at a dozen or more tiny images. Freddie furrowed his eyebrows, leaning closer to get a better look, while Rami moved his thumb and moved the screen with it. _Are those_ photos _?_

 

“Here,” Rami announced, tapping one and blowing the image up to full-size. It showed a young white man with long hair smiling at the camera and Rami, also with long hair, smiling as well. They had their arms over each other’s shoulders, but the other man – Joe – was holding two fingers up above Rami’s head.

 

Freddie snorted; he couldn’t help it.

 

“Yeah, he’s like that,” Rami said very fondly, shrinking the photo once again to continue searching through the others.

 

“Well, I must admit, he doesn’t look half bad,” Freddie said appraisingly, rubbing his chin. “Certainly not the worst choice to play dear old Deaky. I can think of at least six people off the top of my head who would be utterly _dreadful_ about it.”

 

“I’ll be sure to let him know,” Rami chuckled, before freezing. Freddie looked up at him warily, and saw the exact moment he closed back in on himself as reality caught up to him. “I–I...”

 

“If I complimented your friend, I must compliment you as well, my dear,” Freddie said, louder than he’d been speaking before. He wasn’t going to pretend Rami hadn’t just shared all of that with him, as Rami seemed to be hoping he’d do. “I assume you’re playing me? I can’t imagine you playing Brian, or _Roger_.”

 

Rami’s face twitched, like he was going to smile and forced himself not to. Instead, his eyes landed on Freddie, and he slowly nodded. Freddie nodded back, once, as if that settled the issue. “Well, if I haven’t said it yet in this future of yours, which it feels I _haven’t_ , let me be the first to say that I think you’re doing a fantastic job!”

 

“You don’t even–” Rami frowned. “You haven’t even seen me act!”

 

Freddie waved his hand. “Doesn’t matter. I can tell. You care about this, don’t you? The film?”

 

Rami opened his mouth to answer, but didn’t actually say anything. He just ducked his head and nodded again.

 

“Then that’s all that matters to _me_ , darling,” Freddie told him. “I don’t have to see you act – although I’m sure you’re a fine actor _anyway_ , or else they wouldn’t have _cast you_. Especially as me; I mean, really, have you _seen_ me?” He scoffed, and smiled slightly when he heard Rami stifle a bark of laughter. “So don’t fret over that anymore. I’m going to teach to play piano.”

 

Freddie felt more than saw Rami do a double-take at the sudden segue, as he’d faced back towards the piano and set his hands on the keys. He played a few notes of what he’d begun to compose earlier before John had rushed him out, and caught Rami staring at his hands out of the corner of his eye.

 

He stopped once he was through with those few notes. “ _Do_ you know how to play piano?”

 

“I... no,” Rami said, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck. “I learned a little to – well, to... you know...”

 

“Play me?”

 

Rami nodded. He looked distinctly uncomfortable. Freddie shrugged, unbothered. “Well, pretending to play is nothing on actually playing, dear,” he said. He took his hands off the keys and motioned for Rami to replace them.

 

The poor lad looked terrified. It was adorable. “Now, now, I’m not trying to get you to kill a man, am I?” That startled a laugh out of him, and he allowed himself a grin of accomplishment. “It’s just a piano. Any instrument can be learned, darling, you just have to put in the time – and while we don’t exactly have that much of it, I _am_ going to show you the basics, at the very least. So, hands up.”

 

“I know the basics,” Rami said under his breath, but did as Freddie requested without hassle.

 

“Ah, but you’ve never learnt the basics from _me_ ,” Freddie quipped, earning another laugh. He paused for a moment, staring at Rami’s ‘phone’ where it lay in his lap. An idea had just popped into his head that he could, reasonably, classify as possibly genius. If it functioned as a camera... “Rami, does your telephone record video, as well?”

 

Rami paused, as well, his hands resting unfamiliarly on the keys. “Yesss...” he drew out, then furrowed his eyebrows at him, instantly suspicious. “Why?”

 

“Oh, no reason,” Freddie said, perfectly innocent.

 

Rami raised a positively incredulous eyebrow. ”Are you... you want to _record this_?”

 

“Well, yes.”

 

“Mister – F- _Freddie_ ,” Rami said, flustered. “We are not _recording this_.”

 

“Why not?” Freddie asked, crossing his arms. “I think it has some merit! It would be nice to have something to reference for the studio later, since I’m probably going to be composing while I teach you; that’s what I was doing before John dragged me out of here this morning, you know.”

 

Rami was silent for a few moments. “Is that... the notes I heard you play, earlier?” Freddie nodded, and Rami sighed angrily. “You haven’t written Bo... _hm_.” He shut himself up.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“ _Nothing_ ,” Rami was quick to say. Freddie could read the lie a mile away – the boy was a _dreadful_ liar for an actor – but he let it slide. “But I already know the opening chords to that song. It was one of the first I had to learn, even if I really only learned the first few notes.”

 

“Well, let’s learn the whole thing together, then, shall we?” Freddie said, plucking Rami’s phone from his lap and holding it as far away as he could when he tried to grab it. “Now, how do I record on this?”

 

Rami was able to snatch it back and held it close, likely afraid Freddie would try and take it again. He just met his annoyed gaze with his own expectant one until he capitulated and sighed again. He turned the phone back on and tapped at it rapidly with his thumb, then continued tapping until he reached over and set the phone on top of the piano just-so. It was leaning upright against the music stand, and, when Freddie looked, he could see himself and Rami on the screen, moving as if they were in a mirror.

 

“Oh, my,” he said, raising a hand and wiggling his fingers to see the tiny-him on the screen do the same. “That is _fascinating_. Do all of your future telephones have this?”

 

“Yes,” Rami huffed. “Now let’s get this over with.”

 

“Oh, please, darling, let’s not get hasty, now,” Freddie insisted, motioning for Rami to replace his hands on the keys, which he did grudgingly. “There we go. Paul hasn’t come barging in to interrupt us yet, so I doubt he will anytime soon. We have plenty of time to give you a very basic education on the beauty of the piano.” Rami snorted under his breath, and Freddie elbowed him in the arm. He cleared his throat while Rami hissed, as though it had hurt. “Now, show me what you _do_ know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sneak peak at ch. 6:
> 
>  
> 
> _“Alright.” Roger immediately rounded on Brian. “What was going on this morning?”_


	6. john

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is, by far, the saddest chapter (save _maybe_ ten?). I personally don't think its _super_ sad - but then, I've read and reread it probably twelve times, so I might just be desensitized. either way...

John groaned the second Paul’s car pulled off down the dirt road out of the farm that afternoon, having to stop himself from lying down on the gravel right then and there and just taking a nap. Brian and Roger looked equally as exhausted. Distracting and lying to the man for hours at a time was an event in and of itself, especially since he was very clearly less enthusiastic in the studio without Fred there. They’d had to talk him out of trying to check in on him four separate times, and that was _after_ telling him Fred had been feeling under the weather and was locked up in his room writing sheet music to pass the time and very clearly didn’t want to be bothered on threat of having things thrown at him. _Christ, he’s persistent._

 

But they’d managed, and now, with Paul’s car growing smaller and smaller in the distance, they were alone once again.

 

With their thoughts.

 

“Alright.” Roger immediately rounded on Brian. “What was going on this morning?”

 

Brian’s face fell. “I – er–”

 

“You can’t get out of it this time, Brian,” Roger told him in no uncertain terms. “I won’t let you. Something’s going on and I want to know what the _hell_ you found out that made you look like that.”

 

John winced, but couldn’t deny that he was just as curious. Whatever it was Brian had inferred from their guest, it couldn’t be good. Anything that made Brian look like that _couldn’t_ be. John hadn’t been able to snap him out of it until they’d gotten to the studio, and even then it’d been because Paul’d been there and would’ve gotten suspicious with him being so... _miserable_. Actually, now that he was thinking about it, Brian hadn’t really snapped out of it at _all_.

 

He looked just as miserable now. “I – look, I don’t know the details or anything like that, I can’t tell–”

 

“Brian, for the love of _god_ –”

 

John put his hand on Roger’s shoulder and bodily pulled him a few steps away from Brian. “Look, fighting about it isn’t gonna solve anything,” he said with a pointed glance at Roger, who sniffed and looked away, shrugging his hand off his shoulder. “How about we go and grab Fred and Rami, yeah? We can ask him directly, and I’m sure Fred’s starving by now, anyway; he didn’t eat much for breakfast.”

 

After a moment’s contemplation, Roger grunted, “fine” and John saw Brian practically collapse with relief. “He’ll have more information on whatever it is, anyway,” he elaborated, and started off towards the house like a man on a mission. John scrambled after him, and Brian wasn’t too far behind.

 

They heard piano as soon as they piled in, followed by Freddie’s laughter, which made them all relax, as minute as that relaxation was. The piano stopped when they trumped up the stairs, probably because they didn't bother staying quiet, and Freddie opened the bedroom door as they reached it with a bright grin. Nothing appeared to be remiss. “Gentlemen, good afternoon! I’m assuming Paul’s left for the day? And earlier than expected.” This was accompanied by a grateful look thrown John’s way, and he nodded back.

 

“Didn’t seem to want to hang around with us for some reason, Fred,” he told him, grabbing the back of Roger’s shirt to keep him from plowing Freddie over in his haste to interrogate Rami. “Think he was missing you.”

 

Freddie waved his hand dismissively, though John could've sworn he saw his jaw tighten before it vanished as fast as he'd registered it. “That’s quite alright. I had quite the productive afternoon, as a matter of fact.”

 

“Better than we did,” Brian said tiredly from behind them, and John snorted at the understatement. They’d hardly gotten anything done, as high-strung as they’d been.

 

“Oh, that’s a shame. Roger, why do you look ready to bite someone’s head off?” Freddie questioned, raising an eyebrow. His eyes sharpened pointedly. “Was Paul that bad?”

 

John could feel Roger trembling through his shirt. “ _I_ –”

 

“He’s still caught up on what happened this morning,” John butted in before Roger could dig himself a hole he’d never fill. He whirled around to glare at John, but he continued, “We... all are, really. We’re worried, is all. Brian wouldn’t tell us...”

 

Brian coughed, and John watched Freddie’s entire demeanor change. He frowned, and his shoulders sagged, as if under a heavy weight. His eyes seemed to darken within moments. “Ah. Yes. That.” He sucked his teeth before standing up straight again and throwing his head over his shoulder. If he’d seemed defeated just seconds before, he seemed frightfully determined, now. “Come on, dear, it’s time for dinner. Can’t put this off any further, I’m afraid.”

 

John saw Rami stand up from the piano bench and nervously approach the doorway, and put two and two together.

 

Rami had told Fred.

 

– 

 

The atmosphere at the kitchen nook in the barn could be described as wildly tense. Freddie and Rami hadn’t even spoken yet and everyone was already on edge. Roger couldn’t seem to sit still, Brian couldn’t seem to _move_ , and John sort of just wanted to scream into a pillow for a very long time. Freddie looked far too serious for whatever secret they were keeping to be pleasant, and Rami looked like he’d rather be literally anywhere else.

 

They all had food in front of them and it was slowly going cold.

 

Freddie was the one to finally break the silence.

 

“I’m dead,” he said, as if he’d just been told it was going to be overcast tomorrow, and John felt his heart stop.

 

“What,” he said back. It wasn’t a question. He glanced over to Brian, who was staring at his plate and clenching his hands into fists on his thighs.

 

“In the future,” Freddie explained. “I’m dead. It's why Rami had never met me, because I died in 1991.” 

 

“ _Nineteen ninety_ –” Roger was breathing very hard beside John, but at least he _was_ breathing. John felt like _he_ wasn’t. He watched Freddie’s lips as he talked. 

 

“Yes,” he said. He wondered, faintly, how he’d reacted when Rami had originally told him if he was acting so calm and collected now. Speaking of Rami, his head was bowed to his chest and his eyes were closed. He wondered again, faintly, how _he_ had reacted, telling Freddie he was... 

 

“Dead?” he repeated, and his voice was barely there at all.

 

Freddie just nodded. “According to our guest, I caught something incurable. It’s not a disease yet, but it becomes an epidemic by the eighties, and kills _millions_.”

 

“Still hasn’t been cured,” Rami muttered under his breath, and Freddie nudged him with an elbow.

 

“When did you...” Brian began, and had to clear his throat before continuing, “When did you... catch it? Where?”

 

“We don’t know,” Freddie said bluntly, though his eyes flashed tellingly, like he knew more than he was saying but not enough to offer them any kind of reassurance. “But I’m apparently diagnosed in 1987, so I probably don’t have it yet.”

 

“ _Oh_ thank god,” Roger whispered, and lowered his head to the table. He just managed to miss the plate of food in front of him when he did, but John didn’t think he would’ve cared if he hadn’t, at this point. John raised a hand to his chest to feel his heartbeat, to make sure it was still there. All his brain kept circling through over and over again was ‘Freddie’s dead’, ‘Freddie’s _not_ dead’, and ‘Freddie’s not dead _yet_ ’.

 

“Yes, that’s what I said,” Freddie said blandly, then shrugged. “I must admit, I... _did_ have a bit of a reaction, when Rami told me, but I’m thankful he did. Now, I can do my best to avoid it.”

 

“You-” Brian sounded taken aback. “Won’t that... I don’t know...”

 

“Change things?” Freddie finished. “Yes, we thought of that, too, but what do we have to lose? Rami here was afraid of causing some kind of apocalypse by telling me–”

 

“I didn’t say _apocalypse_ ,” Rami said stiffly, rubbing his eyes.

 

“You might as well have – to which _I_ said: fuck that,” Freddie said, which was exactly like him to say. “I’ll tell Fate itself to fuck off if I have to. If I know what’s coming, I can prepare for it.”

 

“If you don’t know where or how you got it, then how can you prepare?” Brian asked, and Freddie was quiet for a few seconds. Rami pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

“I’ll be careful.”

 

“Careful?” Brian scoffed. He seemed to be the only one capable of speech, currently. Possibly because he’d already had a few hours to vaguely sort through his emotions on Fred being dead in the future, even if he hadn’t known the details. “How will that help?”

 

“The disease is mostly sexually transmitted,” Freddie told them. “So, like I said: _I’ll be careful_.”

 

“Very, _very_ careful,” Rami reiterated, and Freddie nodded and said, “Very, very careful. Or I just might not have sex.”

 

That had Roger laughing into the table, and John blinked in shock. Brian’s jaw had dropped, as well. Freddie looked between them all and scowled, putting his hands on his hips. “What? You don’t think I can do it?” Roger just laughed harder.

 

“Er, no offense, Fred,” John said, raising his hands as a peace offering. “But you’re not exactly known for being _celibate_.”

 

“Oh, and as if Roger _is_!” he exclaimed, outraged, and leaned over to smack Roger’s head when that earned him another laugh.

 

“Will that actually... you know... _work_?” Brian said, not sounding convinced.

 

Freddie opened his mouth, but Rami spoke over him; “If you want me to be _completely_ honest, I can’t say if it will change _anything_.” Freddie sat back on the stool with crossed arms and pursed lips. This seemed to be a conversation the two of them had already had, and Freddie seemed to have already made his mind up about it. “Like I said, there’s movies about this kind of thing–”

 

“Movies that haven’t even come out yet,” Freddie muttered, picking at his nails.

 

“– _and they all seem to be in agreement_ that changing the past is a gamble, and usually not a good one,” Rami continued in a louder tone of voice, like he was trying to drown Freddie out. “Half of them say that any slight misstep will cause massive repercussions, like – like, you bump into a stranger on a street, and suddenly, back in your original timeline, there’s a different president. Or, prime minster, in your guys’ case. And then you have to go back again and stop yourself from going back in the first place, and it’s a whole situation. The other option... well...” Here, he rubbed the back of his neck. “The other option is that you’d _always_ gone back to do what you did, so nothing changes. That you going back in time was an event that was always going to happen, and whatever actions you took to change the past were irrelevant because nothing was going to change _anyway_ , because they’d _always been done_.”

 

John could read between the lines on that one; if Rami had been scared he’d irrevocably screwed with the timeline by appearing in the first place, as the first suggested could happen, then... he was equally as scared that he was supposed to have come back all along, and Freddie was going to die anyway, even with the forewarning.

 

That he couldn’t change anything in a way that mattered.

 

“That sounds...” John trailed off, and swallowed around the lump in his throat.

 

“Depressing,” Brian said with a humorless huff of laughter.

 

“And confusing,” Roger groaned, sitting back up and rubbing his face.

 

“And _ridiculous_ ,” Freddie added bitterly. “I’m not going to base my decisions on some fancy future film plots, thank you very much.”

 

“We’ve already _discussed_ this–” Rami said tightly, and Freddie cut him off by slamming both hands on the table and making them all flinch back. “ _I don’t care_.” He stared Rami down until he shrunk in his seat. “This is _my life_ , damnit.”

 

 _Ah, shit._ John could see Fred’s eyes turning glassy from here. He lowered his own to the plate of food still in front of him, and caught Brian and Roger suddenly finding the ceiling and their nails incredibly interesting as well. He was still able to see Fred try to discreetly wipe at his tears and rub his hand over his mouth until his lips stopped trembling, despite trying to give him some form of privacy.

 

It was silent for a very, very long minute. “I’m going to follow through with this whether you think I should or not,” Freddie stated. His voice was dangerously cool and precise. One would think it would indicate rage, but John knew him well enough to know that, in reality, he was keeping a tide of emotions behind a steel barrier by the skin of his teeth. “And _that_ is _that_. Is that understood.” It wasn’t a question.

 

John felt himself nodding, and saw Brian and Roger do the same. Rami didn’t move one way or the other, just sat on his stool staring blankly at his food. John could only imagine the row the two had had while the three of them had been in the studio with Paul, and was selfishly glad he hadn't been there to see it.

 

Freddie then got to his feet and grabbed his own plate of food off the table to shove into the microwave on the back counter. Nobody really wanted to talk, after that absolute whirlpool, and only Roger seemed willing to pick at his cold dinner. John was just starting to contemplate what he could possibly say to defuse the charged energy in the room when Rami groaned and thunked his head onto the table, making everyone jump. “We were just playing piano,” he mumbled despairingly into the wood.

 

That earned him a snort from Roger, who raised an eyebrow at Freddie’s back. “You were teaching him to play _piano_?” he asked around a mouthful of food. John made a face and Brian rolled his eyes, and he heard Freddie grunt in disgust at the noise. “ _That’s_ what you used the afternoon to do?” He sounded hideously amused.

 

This, at least, broke the tension ( _thank you, Rog_ ), and Freddie half-turned to glare at him. It wasn’t a real glare, mind, just a mildly annoyed one, which meant he was no longer quite as on edge. “I’ll have you know, our guest is a perfectly competent pianist, thank you very much.”

 

“Yeah, after you got done with him, I’m sure,” Roger said, and Rami let out an indignant noise, but didn’t raise his head or offer anything of substance, so he probably agreed.

 

Freddie harrumphed. “Regardless, I didn’t _just_ teach him piano.” Then he lit up, as if he’d just remembered something. It was like the last few grueling minutes had never happened – for the moment, at least. Freddie was now clearly trying to sweep everything under the rug and go back to normal. “I wrote something I think you’ll like.”

 

“Did you? Thank god; we got _nothing_ done with Paul in the studio.”

 

“I told you I had a productive afternoon,” Freddie said brightly, removing his plate from the microwave. “And I have it on good authority that this one will be _quite_ popular.” His smile turned mischievous as he sat back down beside Rami, who raised his head just to give Freddie a side-eye.

 

“Remind me to never let you find my music library,” he said dryly, and Freddie perked up again in delight.

 

“ _Music_? You have _music_ on your telephone?” He sounded positively thrilled, and Rami suddenly had the expression of someone who’d just made a horrible mistake.

 

“Telephone? What?” Roger asked, and shared looks with John and Brian, who were equally as confused.

 

Freddie looked ecstatic, and bounced in his seat, having evidently, once again, completely forgotten about his food. “Oh, Rami, you have to show them!”

 

This was met with another pained groan from their guest, and John had to bite back his laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sneak peak at ch. 7:
> 
>   _They were now properly in the recording studio, and Rami now felt properly out of his comfort zone. He very much did not want to get in the way._


	7. rami, freddie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> compared to the last few chapters this one is definitely not as intense or emotional, but its not feel-good either. its kind of inbetween. hopefully you enjoy it

As they’d apparently had dinner at something like three o’clock in the afternoon, it was still light out by the time they’d finished their meals. The rest of the band had needled him with more questions than he could answer about his phone, such as how much data it could store, how good the camera was, what each individual app did, even what it was made of. (Rami had just answered, “Glass and metal, and no I don’t know any more than that”, to John Deacon’s quiet disappointment.) Freddie had tried to ask more about the music he had on it, which he had very, very pointedly shut down (to Freddie’s much more vocal disappointment), but Rami wasn’t going to be responsible for putting ideas in Freddie Mercury’s head because he’d let him listen to something after 1975 and that was the hill he was going to die on.

 

He was letting Brian fiddle with the camera app as Freddie led them to the studio on the farm, since Rami could trust him to not go snooping through his things and he was also the tallest, and therefore had the easiest time keeping it away from curious hands. Roger was still sending the occasional jealous glare towards him on the path, which Brian didn’t seem to notice.

 

“Oh, Christ,” Brian suddenly mumbled, and Rami looked over to see him rubbing his eyes. “I think the flash just went off,” he explained, removing his hand and blinking, likely to clear the spots from his vision.

 

“You probably took a photo of yourself, then,” Rami told him, reaching over and taking his phone back to check as they entered the studio. And – yup, there it was: a very unflattering view of Brian May’s face from the chin up. The flash had made him look as pale as a ghost. Rami snorted. “Yeah, look,” he said, and showed him.

 

To Brian’s dismay, apparently, as he winced. “Good lord, I look dreadful.”

 

“I’ll say,” Roger chimed in with a snicker, having snuck a peek over Rami’s shoulder. Brian scowled and shoved at him until he stepped back with a giant grin on his face.

 

Freddie clapped his hands together three succinct times, which was apparently what he did to get his bandmates’ attention, as they all turned to him as one with interest. They were now properly in the recording studio, and Rami now felt properly out of his comfort zone. He very much did not want to get in the way.

 

Freddie must have seen it on his face, since he told him, “Rami, you can sit this one out on the couch.”

 

Rami had no problem following that order, and curled up in one corner of the sofa that was pressed against the wall with his legs pulled up under him. He had a feeling they were going to be here a while.

 

They were very much there a while. Freddie outlined his basic plans for the as-yet unnamed Bohemian Rhapsody, of which he had already written the piano portions and lyrics of. He wound up not needing to reference the recordings they’d taken back at the house in any way, as Rami had suspected all along, and instead spent the next few hours hashing out with his bandmates a lot of different things. They went through backing vocals, guitar riffs, pitch changes, which drum should be used for which part, and so on. John Deacon had even sat down and started composing his own bass lines as they talked. Half of the musical jargon they were using went over his head, but it was incredibly fascinating to watch one of the best bands in the world work in real time.

 

It didn’t stop him from falling asleep further into the evening, though, unfortunately.

 

–

 

“Guys, look.”

 

John and Roger paused in the middle of their epic debate over something that... honestly, had nothing to do with the song they were currently in the studio for, and they and Freddie looked over to where Brian was indicating. There, lying beside Brian on the couch and curled into a very tiny ball, was Rami.

 

Fast asleep.

 

“Oh, that’s _adorable_ ,” Freddie cooed, stepping closer. He was tempted to ruffle the lad’s hair, but ultimately decided against it.

 

“It’s barely eight o’clock; what’s he fallen asleep for?” Roger said, and John smacked his arm.

 

“He’s kind of had a stressful day, Rog,” he said obviously. “I’d be exhausted, too.” At that, Roger gestured as if to say ‘that’s fair’.

 

“He already knows this song, anyway,” Freddie added.

 

“He does, doesn’t he?” Roger rubbed his chin and propped himself against the sound board. “Didn’t you say it’s going to get really popular?”

 

“I did say that,” Freddie absently confirmed. He’d spotted Rami’s phone lying innocently in his hand. His grip was very loose.

 

“ _How_ popular? Did he tell you that?”

 

“He did,” Freddie said, and, before he could talk himself out of it, reached over and slipped Rami’s phone out of his hand and into his own in one fluid movement. He didn’t so much as twitch.

 

“Fred–” Brian said, moving as if to snatch it back from him, but stopped in his tracks when Rami made a noise, having been jostled when Brian shifted. None of them so much as breathed until he settled back down, and Brian, very slowly, got to his feet and backed away from him.

 

Freddie was already tapping at the telephone, back to the room as he did so. He’d seen Rami get to the camera from this screen, he just had to figure out _how_ –

 

“Fred, you shouldn’t be–”

 

“ _Shut up, Brian_ ,” he hissed, throwing his head over his shoulder to glare at him. He may have, possibly, put more venom into it than he’d intended, because Brian took a shocked step back with wide eyes. Roger and John blinked at him, stunned, and he swallowed, chastised. “Sorry,” he said. “I-I’m sorry, I just...” He turned back to the phone. If he could just...

 

“Fred...” John began, but Freddie had managed to find his way to the camera before he could continue, and he let out a quiet, “aha!” of triumph. He may have accidentally taken a photo of the floor before he was able to get it to start recording video, but he was very proud of himself either way. He spun on his heel and raised the telephone, seeing his bandmates through the screen looking positively confused. “There,” he said in his proper voice. “Say hi to the camera, boys.”

 

John raised a quizzical eyebrow while Brian raised both of his own in disbelief. “You just wanted to _record_ us?” He sounded more than a bit hurt.

 

Freddie winced as Roger moved closer. “Er, well, _no_ , not _just_ that. But I wanted to do this first.”

 

“You’re not going to try and find his music collection, are you?” John asked bluntly, and Freddie scoffed.

 

“ _No_ , I’m not,” he insisted, moving the phone away from Roger’s face when he got too close and his image on the screen started getting blurry. “Rami’s probably right; I don’t want to influence myself with things that haven’t come out yet. It wouldn’t be proper.”

 

He saw Brian roll his eyes, at that, and walked closer to John, making sure to get him on camera. “I wouldn’t be able to find it, anyway. This thing has some kind of password on it to open it properly. Say hi, Deaky.”

 

“Hello,” John deadpanned with an unenthusiastic wave.

 

“Oh, come on, you can do better than that!” Roger told him, but Freddie was already moving on to Brian, who looked distinctly unimpressed.

 

“Say hi, Brian.”

 

Brian didn’t give him the satisfaction, just gave him a flat stare over the telephone.

 

He batted his eyelashes. “Please?”

 

Nothing.

 

“Good enough,” Freddie decided, and moved on again with Roger giggling in the background. Brian huffed indignantly behind him as Freddie moved the camera to Rami, who was just as unconscious as he’d been earlier.

 

“I’m not going to ask you to say hello, dear, but do know I’m recording this for _you_ ,” he told his sleeping form, crouching down slightly and making sure he got his face in the shot. He wondered if watching himself sleep would be embarrassing for him. “Hopefully when you wake up – when you _actually_ wake up – you’ll still have these and know you weren’t just making things up for the hell of it, and you’ll be able to show Brian and Roger and Deaky... well, you know. I have no idea if you will, but...” He sighed, aggravated, then stood back up to full height and turned back to the room, stopping the recording mid-turn. “Brian, Roger, I need you to do something for me.”

 

“O...kay, Fred,” Brian said, not sounding too sure of himself. He was likely too curious to turn him down. He shared a look with Roger, who shrugged.

 

“I need you to take this, and record yourselves saying something that only you would know and that you would never share with the public on it.” He could already see the myriad of questions sprouting up behind their eyes, and spoke again before they could open their mouths. “Like I said: I don’t know if this” – He gestured to the item in his hand. – “is going to retain anything we record on it when Rami wakes up back in his time. But if it does...”

 

Brian’s shoulders slumped in understanding. “You want him to be able to tell our future selves he was here, and believe him.”

 

Freddie nodded. “If you record something only you know and he shows it to them, they'll - er, _you'll_ \- know it's real. I...” He coughed. “I – already recorded my own message. _Messages_ , rather.” In the bathroom, earlier that day, after Rami couldn’t hold it in anymore and told him... everything. Freddie didn’t know how he’d kept quiet for _that_ long, with that kind of information in his head, but he didn’t regret being told. (Especially when he was told about Paul _fucking_ Prenter. He’d be throwing _him_ to the curb the first chance he got, make no mistake about _that_.)

 

Well. He regretted it a little. He’d broken down in the bathroom, after he’d requested Rami’s phone. His eyes were red and puffy, and his skin was flushed. He hadn’t looked his best, and a part of him didn’t want the first footage Brian and Roger and possibly John to see in twenty-fucking-seventeen to be of him looking like that, especially if he really couldn’t do anything to prevent his death the way Rami seemed so worried about, but he’d needed to do it. He’d needed to do something, and this... this was doable. He didn’t know if it would pan out in the long-run, but the chance that it could outweighed that doubt triple-fold.

 

And I mean, really, who _knows_ how this whole time travel business worked. Maybe Rami wasn’t even from _their_ future – maybe he was from some completely separate reality altogether, and their two paths had intersected at the whims of some all-knowing being with too much time on its hands. _Who knows._

 

“You can, too, if you’d like, John,” Freddie offered, and John blinked at him. “Rami doesn’t have your number like he does Brian and Rog’s, but I’m sure he’d be able to get it to you.”

 

“...Sure, Fred,” John said softly, and Freddie nodded, biting the inside of his cheek. He handed the phone to Roger, who was closest, and shoved his hands under his arms. “Go on, then, Rog.”

 

Roger stared at the phone for a moment or two before snapping out of it. “Right. Right, yeah, right,” he said, and stepped out into the hallway, shutting the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sneak peak at ch. 8:
> 
>  _Rami woke up to his muscles spasming. “_ Fuck _–!” he choked out, just in time to feel himself topple off of something and onto the much harder ground._


	8. rami

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is "late", I had work for the first time in four days today lmao. if I hadn't kept writing this would've been the last chapter! hopefully you'll be thankful for the rest once you read this

Rami woke up to his muscles spasming. “ _Fuck_ –!” he choked out, just in time to feel himself topple off of something and onto the much harder ground. He landed on his stomach with a groan and heard several people around him curse through the ringing in his ears, clenching and unclenching his shaking fingers like it would get the rest of his body to stop feeling like a goddamn livewire.

 

If he was going to experience this every time he woke up around here, he was going to be pissed.

 

Gritting his teeth, he rolled over onto his back and forced himself onto his elbows. “Okay,” he grunted. “That hurt.”

 

“Are you– _oh_ , dear.”

 

Rami opened his eyes to see four other pairs staring at him with varying degrees of horror. _That’s not good._ He looked down at himself to see if he was bleeding out or something, only to find – _oh, god_.

 

He squeaked in shock. “What the _fuck_ – _why am I see-through_?!” _Well, not completely_ , he hysterically specified. His body was flickering between the amount of see-through he _typically_ was – which is to say, _none at all_ – and an amount of transparency that reminded him of a screen projection, or a hologram. It was like his body was sliding back and forth on an opacity bar on a computer monitor that was simultaneously really, really glitchy, and the sight was making his stomach roll.

 

“As though we know!” Brian said, equally as high-pitched in disbelief. “That’s – this is what you looked like earlier, when you woke up!”

 

“Well I’m not awake _now_!” Rami shouted, turning his hands over to see if that would change anything. It didn’t. _Oh, this is fucked up._

 

“Well it’s not like _we_ know what’s going on!” Roger shouted back, throwing his hands out.

 

“Maybe it means you’re _going_ to wake up?” John ventured, wincing. “You sure as hell weren’t going in and out like that, though.” He sounded as disturbed as Rami felt.

 

Rami paused, a noise getting stuck in his throat while the others started debating whether or not that was a plausible explanation.

 

His ears were still ringing.

 

_Wait._

 

“Holy shit,” he said, stopping the brewing argument. “I can hear my alarm.” It sounded like it was resonating from the base of his skull, but it was definitely there. It was a sensation he very much never wanted a repeat of.

 

“So you _are_ waking up, then,” Freddie said, stepping closer. He bent and held out his hands, and Rami took them gratefully and allowed himself to be helped to his feet, even though he swayed a little once he was upright. “You’re cold as death, dear,” Freddie told him, steadying him. “Maybe even colder.”

 

“You are, too,” Rami said. Touching Freddie’s hands had felt like sticking his own to the side of a freezer door. He shook his arms out to try and get rid of the lingering prickles he could feel under his skin, but they stubbornly persisted.

 

“Yeah, that’s not creepy at all,” Roger said, dripping with sarcasm, and Rami dropped back onto the couch with Freddie’s help. He grimaced when it made his back spasm unhappily. His muscles still didn’t know what to do with themselves, caught between being awake in 1975 and waking up in 2017. _And isn’t that just a fascinating sentence. Jesus._

 

His hand was grabbed again, and a familiar rectangular object slotted between his fingers. He held it tightly ( _like hell am I leaving_ that _behind_ ), seeing it start flickering along with the rest of him once Freddie had retreated. He wondered for a hot minute why his alarm wasn’t coming from his phone _here_ the way it probably was in his trailer before forcibly shoving that line of thought out of his head to be dealt with at a much, much later date. Instead, he stared quizzically after Freddie, and suspiciously narrowed his eyes when he sheepishly cleared his throat. “What were you doing with this?”

 

“Nothing untoward, I can assure you,” Freddie sniffed, crossing his arms. “Just recording some things. You know.”

 

The awkward way everyone was now looking off to the side, and the way Roger coughed into his hand, was very telling. “ _Oh_ ,” Rami said. “Right.” A beat. “No music?”

 

“ _No_ , I didn’t find your music,” Freddie said, rolling his eyes. He looked like he was pouting. “But we _did_ record a very nice message for you, and take some photos, so you’d better look at them as soon as you wake up proper, is that understood?”

 

Rami was tempted to respond with a joking ‘yes, mom’, because Freddie _did_ have that classic look of motherly expectation on his face as he said it, but the fact that he’d thought to record something for _him_ was... very touching. Even if he perhaps did not completely trust the photos, with the way Roger was very deliberately covering his mouth in the back. “...Thank you,” he said. Freddie made eye contact with him before nodding.

 

“Hey!” Roger cut through the growing tension, clapping his hands and sounding excited. “How about we all take a photo together? For good luck?”

 

“Oh, Rog–”

 

“No!” Rami found himself saying sharply, and forced himself not to cringe back when their attention was on him once again. “No,” he repeated, softer this time. “That’s... I’d... like that.” He gave them a crooked smile. “For good luck, right?”

 

“Right!” Roger said with a grin. He waved him over, and Rami was able to stand back up from the sofa with no assistance this time. “Come on, then, we can’t all fit on that couch.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure we could, if we tried hard enough,” Freddie mused, throwing his arm around Rami’s shoulders when he was stood between them. Rami could feel how cold he was through his shirt. “I could lie on everyone’s laps, for example.”

 

This earned a laugh from John and a groan from Brian while Rami brought up the front-facing camera and held his phone out. Trying to get five grown men into one shot was going to be an adventure. “Oh!” To his pleasant surprise, despite he and his phone’s flickering transparency, the screen remained perfectly viewable and opaque – as was he, if only on camera. Watching his see-through thumbs tap on a not-see-through screen may have given him slight whiplash.

 

“Well _that’s_ good news,” Freddie said, leaning over to get his head in the shot and sticking his tongue out playfully. Rami bit his lip to stifle a laugh.

 

Roger sidled in on Rami’s other side and flinched away with a curse when their arms brushed. Rami jumped, startled, and stared at him with wide eyes as he rubbed his forearm. “Christ!” he spat. “That fucking _hurt_!”

 

“Did you _forget_ how Brian got shocked this morning?” Freddie asked, incredulous, and Rami was abruptly reminded of their much earlier conversation, during which Freddie had told him Brian had been shocked when he’d tried to touch him. The words hadn’t really registered then, but they were evidently still relevant, even though he wasn’t fully awake in his trailer just yet, the way he’d been the first time. Rami decided to file that in with the phone alarm question (and the transparency question), and put it at the back of his mind until he had ample time to sort it out.

 

Roger huffed. “ _No_ ,” he said moodily, shaking his arm out as Brian scooted in behind Rami and John got to his feet. “But he’s not all out of it now, is he? How was I supposed to know it’d still hurt?”

 

“By using common sense,” John drily replied, pushing Roger out of the way to take his place. _He_ was careful to not accidentally touch him.

 

Roger scowled, looking ready to push John back, before pompously sticking his nose up. This had the added side effect of making John snicker, and Roger instead half-crouched in front of Rami, throwing his arms out for balance. Freddie and John grabbed one each to help him stay vaguely upright, and Rami heard Brian cough to cover a laugh over his shoulder.

 

“You’d best hurry up with that camera, Rami, I’m not gonna be able to hold this for long.”

 

“I’m _trying_ ; you all need to stop squirming,” he said, angling his phone this way and that to fit all five of them on the screen. It was easier said than done, especially since three of the five subjects _couldn’t touch him_. The _photographer_. Who was _in the middle_.

 

He _did_ wind up getting the picture, eventually. And about twelve more with it, five of which were somewhere between ‘a little fuzzy’ and ‘too blurry to make out’. One of them only caught half of John’s face; another only caught Brian’s ear and hair. Roger was making ridiculous faces in four of them, and, in two more, Freddie was mid-blink. But the picture was taken.

 

“Ooh, we look _gorgeous_!” Freddie said in delight when Rami brought the only usable one up, and Roger scoffed, scandalized, from where he was now standing in front of them all and looking at the photo upside-down.

 

“We _always_ look gorgeous, Fred.”

 

“Well, that’s true.”

 

Staring at the photo, it was like a switch had been flipped. Rami winced and raised a hand to his head, where his alarm had now risen in volume to the point of being uncomfortable. The prickling under his skin had ramped itself up a notch, as well, and he wasn’t... he was completely transparent now, and wasn’t flickering back to normal. He noted all of this through a haze, and blinked slowly, locking his phone and clumsily slipping it into his pocket. _Why was he so tired all of a sudden?_ “Okay, I need – I need to sit down.”

 

“Hm? Oh, darling, you don’t look well at _all_ ,” Freddie said, surprised, and Rami saw Roger and John’s eyes go wide in his periphery. Freddie took the initiative as the only one able to actually make contact with him to lead him back to the couch and sit him down. It felt like moving through honey, and he stared at the palm of his hand like it was the first time he’d ever seen it. Well. _Stared through it_ , more like. _Huh._

 

Freddie made as if to move away and Rami’s other hand whipped out and grabbed his wrist without him realizing it. _Whoa, that felt weird._ Freddie’s too-cold skin cut through the haze enough to let him breathe – _had he not been doing that?_ – and he felt tears well in his eyes. _Don’t go, don’t go, don’t–_

 

“I-I’m right here, Rami, it’s alright,” Freddie soothed, sounding a bit disconcerted. He saw Roger and Brian and John approach from behind, and heard Brian say, “He’s probably just about woken up, by now...”

 

“He looks awful...” Roger said back, and Rami squeezed Freddie’s wrist.

 

“I _feel_ pretty fucking awful,” he gritted out, blinking at Freddie’s face. It was a little blurry from the tears, but he tried to commit it to memory. “ _God_ , this sucks.”

 

Freddie huffed under his breath. “I imagine it does,” he said softly, raising his free hand to comfortingly pat the one holding his wrist and rub his knuckles. His hands were so cold.

 

“You’re so _nice_ ,” Rami blurted out. “It’s not – It’s not _fair_. I wish I could’ve met you.”

 

He heard Brian and John suck in a sharp breath, and saw Freddie shut his eyes. “...I wish I could’ve met you, too, dear,” he told him, opening them again, a little shinier than before. “Now, you’ve got to wake up, alright? We can’t have you late; I won’t allow it.”

 

Rami chuckled, a bit choked up, and closed his eyes to wipe at them.

 

When he opened them again, he was back in his trailer, sitting hunched over with the sheets white-knuckled in one fist and his cheeks wet with tears. His alarm was blaring from his phone on the table next to him, an untouched glass of water was sitting innocently beside it, and sunlight was just starting to peek in through the blinds.

 

His hand still felt cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't be discouraged! sneak peak of ch. 9:
> 
> _He’d shut his alarm off and then not touched his phone again until lunch. Cowardly, maybe, but what was he_ supposed _to do? Actually_ look _at it? He thinks_ not.


	9. rami

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rami is an emotional wreck for most of the rest of this fic, chapters eleven to thirteen/fourteen in particular. (I mean, how would you react if you were in his situation, y'know?) but please don't stop reading when you reach That Part, I promise the rest of the fic will elaborate, the next chapter especially. joe is also going to feature very prominently come chapter eleven (though not the rest of the cast, unfortunately)! lots to look forward to

_“Can you come over later, after we’re done for the day?”_

 

He’d watched the video probably twenty times since noon.

 

_“Of course, man. ...Does this have anything to do with what’s been going on with you today?”_

 

He was currently in the process of going through the last several photos in his camera roll like his phone was some kind of ancient text. He felt like he should be wearing gloves.

 

_“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just been a while since we’ve hung out, is all. I’m fine.”_

 

He was not fine.

 

_“...If you say so, Ram.”_

 

He’d shut his alarm off and then not touched his phone again until lunch. Cowardly, maybe, but what was he _supposed_ to do? Actually _look_ at it? He thinks _not_. He’d been tempted to throw it as hard as he could at the wall and shatter it beyond all recognition, in fact, but had ultimately decided against it simply because he didn’t want to have to get a new one. Or have to explain _why_ he needed a new one.

 

He felt fucking exhausted, and the crew could tell. He was asked by four different people in the makeup trailer alone if he’d slept last night, and he’d told them no, because it felt like he hadn’t. He’d also nodded off twice in the makeup chair, and once while getting dressed. _Fun._ Joe, Ben, and Gwilym were noticeably worried, and had all asked him separately if he felt alright, if he was getting sick, and if he’d eaten anything today, in that order. It was very touching, and he may have had a lump form in his throat about it before he’d swallowed it down and told them he was fine, just tired. _And an emotional wreck._

 

Ben and Gwilym hadn’t looked happy, but they hadn’t bugged him about it anymore after that.

 

Joe hadn’t looked happy, and he _had_ bugged him about it more after that.

 

He’d proceeded to ask him what had to be another eight times between takes some variation of, “No, really, what’s wrong?” And that was all _before_ lunch.

 

He guesses that’s what he gets for knowing the guy for over ten years.

 

Rami had shrugged them all off: the ones before lunch with a tired wave of his hand, the ones after lunch with a very tight smile, as, during lunch, he hadn't been able to contain his curiosity any longer and had locked himself in the bathroom for half an hour to check.

 

The proof was on his phone: he hadn’t been dreaming, and he hadn’t changed a goddamn thing.

 

(Someone might’ve heard him when he’d had to stifle his sobs, but no one’d mentioned it.)

 

(Or, at least, not to him.)

 

Joe had taken one look at his face after he’d come back and grew ten times as suspicious and concerned, but also ten times as covert and stealthy in asking him what had happened. He’d also offered him a hug three times, and threatened to beat someone up if he had to once.

 

Rami loved him sometimes.

 

It was why he’d decided to come clean to him. Joe was... He was something else. Ben and Gwilym... well. One soul-bearing episode at a time. If it went well with Joe, he’d consider it.

 

But _only_ if it went well with Joe.

 

Which it might not.

 

 _How do I explain_ this _?_

 

He was sitting on his bed propped up against the wall, flitting between photos and giving all of them their own amount of screen time. The first was the one Brian had taken of himself that made him look _just_ terrible. The last was the one they’d all taken together, with Rami in the middle and no unnatural transparency to be seen. This was prefaced with twelve unusable or downright awful ones. The one after Brian’s was a blurry picture of the floor, followed by at least twenty of the band in various poses with various expressions. At least four of them were just Roger trying out some ridiculous strongman poses with Brian very visibly trying to contain his laughter off to the side; one had Brian with a perfectly blank face staring off into the distance while Roger and Freddie fake-wrestled in the background (Freddie appeared to be winning); one was a very, very bad selfie John had taken that Freddie had shoved himself into so quickly it left him more blur than man; and so on. They were all ridiculous and silly and they were on his fucking phone.

 

There were eight new videos in his camera roll, as well. Two of them were hours long each, and consisted of nothing but Freddie teaching Rami to play the piano and composing Bohemian Rhapsody simultaneously. He didn’t watch them; he knew what happened in them, after all. The first ended with Rami becoming increasingly distracted and being asked about it at least three times before coming to a decision and stopping the recording. The second started with both of them sitting stiffly in front of the piano with red faces and eyes and ended when they’d heard the rest of the band coming up the stairs.

 

There was one video placed between these two with a thumbnail that showed Freddie Mercury in a bathroom, and Rami very deliberately passed it over.

 

The next video was only about two minutes long and was recorded by Freddie, as he was the only one who didn’t appear on camera. It was sweet, he supposed. A bit awkward watching himself sleep like that, but it is what it is. He couldn’t blame Freddie for recording it, not really.

 

There were another three videos following this one of various lengths with, instead, Roger, Brian, and John in the thumbnails. These he also very deliberately passed over.

 

The last video, the one Rami had watched over and over again since lunch, was clearly the one Freddie had been referring to when he’d said they’d recorded something for _him_. It took place inside the soundproofed area of the studio, and showed Freddie holding his phone at just the right angle to get himself and the rest of the band in the shot without cropping anyone out. They were all smiling, although they also all looked a bit drained. “Hello, darling!” Freddie said to the camera, and the other three waved. “We have no idea if this is going to carry over into the future or not, but figured we might as well record it anyway to give you something to listen to when you’re feeling a bit worn out. I can’t imagine starring in a film is all that relaxing, can you?” He threw his head over his shoulder and the others obediently shook their heads. “No, of course not. Especially if you’re playing _me_.” This was said under his breath, but it made John snort, Roger start snickering, and Brian fondly roll his eyes, so he clearly didn’t say it low enough. He sent them a sour look. “ _Which you are doing a great job of_ , and don’t listen to anyone who says otherwise.”

 

“We’re sure you’re great, mate,” Roger told the camera, accompanied by Brian giving the screen a thumbs up. “Wouldn’t’ve hired you otherwise.”

 

Freddie rolled his eyes as John smacked his arm and made him hiss exaggeratedly, and pointedly cleared his throat. “ _Anyway_ – ready, boys?”

 

The other three cleared their throats, as well, and then all four of them went on to harmonize something new on the spot. There weren’t any words, and the impromptu song didn’t seem to have any meaning whatsoever – it was just them singing together for about three minutes. They went from slow and steady to energetic to something in between, and they only stopped when Roger’s voice cracked on a high note. John’s voice similarly cracked into a _laugh_ , and the rest of the band followed suit as the rhythm fell apart. Freddie’s hands fell as he did, and there were a few seconds of dodgy footage of the ceiling before the recording abruptly cut out.

 

Frankly speaking, Rami didn’t know how to feel about it.

 

About... _any_ of it.

 

How was he _supposed_ to feel? How was he supposed to – to come to terms with the fact that he’d fallen asleep in his trailer in 2017 and woken up on Ridge Farm in 1975 and met – and met –

 

He raised a hand to rub his eyes. He’d had a mild headache behind them most of the day, which the set lights hadn’t helped. Neither was staring at his phone for hours at a time, he supposed, and he locked it and threw it to the foot of the bed before he could convince himself not to. With both hands now free, he scrubbed at his face hard, then dropped his head back against the wall and blinked at the ceiling.

 

God.

 

What was he supposed to _do_?

 

He couldn’t – he _couldn’t_ tell Brian and Roger. _Could he?_ No. No, of course not. They’d be... Devastated wasn’t a strong enough word.

 

They must already know, though, right? Him somehow traveling back in time had _happened_. It had happened, actually and tangibly. He couldn’t think of anything else that could explain the things on his phone, which meant that Brian and Roger and even John Deacon had actual, tangible memories of some stranger showing up out of nowhere and dropping a goddamn bombshell on them all – while they were just trying to record an _album_ – and then disappearing again in the span of a few hours. _Delightful._ It was a godsend neither Brian nor Roger had been on set that day. Rami didn’t know what he would’ve done if he’d seen them – or, worse, had to _talk_ to them. He’d’ve probably blurted it all out, and _then_ where would they be?

 

Then again, it’s not like Brian and Roger’d ever _mentioned_ it. He'd never gotten the impression they’d ever met him before, y’know, they’d _actually met_. There had been no sense of recognition whatsoever in their eyes when he’d gone over to watch his audition tape with them, aside from some references to his role in Mr. Robot. _They could’ve just been hiding it, though._ He had to admit, it would’ve been a bit beyond weird if they’d brought up something like that around him before... well, all this. “Yeah, we’re hiring you because you told us forty years ago we were going to. Thanks for telling us how our beloved friend was going to die. Did you ever get those photos?”

 

Yeah, that wouldn’t’ve flown over well.

 

Or they’d lost their memories of the event somehow. _Another time travel movie gimmick._ Typical. It would explain why Freddie Mercury had still died of AIDS-related complications on November 24th, 1991; if he’d forgotten their conversation, he’d have no reason to be _very, very careful_ , the way he’d said he was going to be. Which meant that telling them would only lead to disaster. “Hey, here’s proof that I tried to change the past and it didn’t fucking work. Your beloved friend recorded something probably gut-wrenching for you, do you wanna watch it?” Or, worse, what if him telling them about it brought their memories _back_ , and they _hated_ him for it? He hadn’t changed a _thing_. Who _wouldn’t_ be at least a little pissed about that? He wouldn’t blame them, but it would still _suck_. He _liked_ Brian and Roger.

 

 _Freddie had_ told _him to show them, though._ And who was he, to question Freddie fucking Mercury – especially when it came to his own bandmates? His own _death_?

 

Needless to say, Rami felt a little conflicted right about now.

 

And his phone was still staring at him tauntingly from the foot of the bed.

 

So, instead of trying to think about it anymore while he waited for Joe to come over (oh _god_ , what was he going to tell _Joe_? _Okay, okay, calm down, one thing at a time–_ ), he squeezed his eyes shut and started thinking about literally anything else. _Lines. Think about your lines. You’re off tomorrow, but you’re an actor – memorize that shit, damnit._

 

He must’ve been more exhausted than he’d thought, because he physically felt himself getting pulled under after his eyes’d been closed for no more than a minute or two. _Yeah, that’s healthy._

 

It was only when he realized something felt familiar about this particular pulling that he paused to think. It was really, _really_ familiar.

 

 _Déjà vu_ familiar.

 

 _Oh, you have_ got _to be kidding me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)
> 
> sneak peak at ch. 10:
> 
>  
> 
> _Pre-show jitters had become a normal part of his days in the years since their first concert, but he was self-aware enough to recognize that these particular pre-show jitters were a bit more overwhelming than most._


	10. freddie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a little bittersweet, everyone. hopefully you don't hate it, or think its a cop-out, but I just couldn't do it. I couldn't throw all my weight one way or another so I compromised, and this is the result. hopefully I did it justice, even if I might not have explained it well? sci-fi is hard
> 
> however, @ that one commenter on chapter 4: ;)
> 
> [edit] this also might be the longest chapter? its 4k holy cow

Pre-show jitters had become a normal part of his days in the years since their first concert, but he was self-aware enough to recognize that these particular pre-show jitters were a bit more overwhelming than most. I mean, really, how many people were going to be watching this performance? Millions, at least. He’d be a fool to not be feeling _some_ anxiety.

 

It was a positively exhilarating feeling, though. As jumpy as he was, half of it was due to pure excitement. He knew they were going to do well – they _always_ did well – and the fact that so many people were going to experience it sent a thrill down his spine.

 

Brian, however, just looked like he was going to be sick.

 

“Come on, Bri, how many shows’ve we done?” Roger was saying, rubbing his back from where he was sat bent almost double with his head between his knees. “We’re gonna kill it out there, you know that.”

 

Brian mumbled something incomprehensible that, if Freddie had to make a guess, sounded like, “Do you really think I’d be feeling like this if I wanted to be, Rog?” He and John exchanged looks, a combination of concern and humor both, before John got to his feet and moved to the minibar on one side of the trailer to rummage through the fridge for a bottle of water for their poor, poor guitarist.

 

Roger was in the middle of once again trying to cheer Brian up, this time by doing his best to distract him with just some _godawful_ jokes that only succeeded in making Brian groan loudly (not that Freddie really thought Roger was expecting him to laugh, though he _did_ pout like he was), when there was a sharp crack and a loud thump from the minibar, followed by John screaming and the sound of breaking glass. Freddie was on his feet before he realized he was, and he saw Brian’s head shoot up and Roger jerk back and swear out of the corner of his eye. He was focused on John, who’d backed into the fridge so suddenly it’d knocked a few bottles over. _That would explain the broken glass._ He couldn’t see the floor, but could imagine there were at least two shattered bottles leaking into the carpet by now.

 

“John, are you alright?” Roger exclaimed, getting to his feet as well and stepping closer. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

 

“It wasn’t – I wasn’t – it–” John was blinking rapidly, and Freddie saw his eyebrows furrow hard as he stared at the floor on the other side of the bar. “ _Rami_?!”

 

“ _What_?” all three of them shouted, incredulous, and they all surged as one to the bar to peer over it at what John was so fixated on.

 

And there, splayed on the carpet between them and John, was the same man they’d met almost ten years before, looking dazedly at the ceiling with a pained tilt to his mouth.

 

“Holy _shit_ ,” Roger muttered, and Rami blinked a few times. Freddie watched as his eyes cleared, and then his head lolled in their direction.

 

He then immediately _shut_ his eyes again with a pitiful moan and raised his hands to rub at his face. “Son of a _bitch_ ,” he said with relish.

 

As shocked as he was at the sudden turn of events (after all, meeting a time traveler once was outrageous enough, but _twice_? And right before a concert – and a concert of this size, nonetheless!), Freddie had to stifle his laughter. He walked around the minibar as Rami rolled onto his side and held out his hands. “Come on, darling, up you get.”

 

Rami didn’t hesitate to take them, and let himself be helped to his feet with a grimace. “Welp,” he grunted, hunching slightly. “That hurt.” He turned to John, who was still partially in the fridge and staring back at him gob-smacked, and grimaced again, this time guiltily. “Sorry.”

 

John’s mouth opened and closed twice before he settled on, “...Yeah. Yeah, that’s fair, I suppose.”

 

“Ruined some perfectly good liquor, you did,” Roger complained, now over his own shock. He gestured to the, yes, two broken bottles that were currently soaking into the carpet. (One of them had been mostly empty already, but it was the thought that counted.) It was a good thing they were both clear and wouldn’t stain, but at least one if not both of them were exceptionally strong, and it was already stinking up the place. _Lovely._

 

“Oh, come off it, Rog,” John scowled, moving away from the fridge to grab some hand towels, careful of the glass.

 

“Any particular reason you’re here, darling?” Freddie asked loudly, disrupting the argument before it could start. (Tensions had been high even _before_ their favorite actor’s... er... _unexpected visit_ , thanks to said impending concert, and he could see Roger beginning to puff up from here.) He led Rami around to sit him on the nearest available cushion, which he collapsed into. He didn’t look well at all; in fact, he looked downright _exhausted_.

 

Rami shook his head. “I fell asleep again,” he said as Freddie sat down next to him. Roger had moved around to help John clean up the broken glass and soaking liquor, but Brian was leaning against the bar and looking at them with a very peculiar expression. Rami’s appearance had snapped him out of his funk, for sure, but it’d been replaced with complete and total confusion.

 

“Not completely asleep, though,” he elaborated, rubbing his eyes. “Just a nap, I guess. It felt like I didn’t sleep at all last night.” He paused, then dropped his hand. “Guess it wasn’t last night for you guys, though, huh?” He’d tried to put some humor into it, but it came out very flat, and Freddie winced.

 

“I’m afraid not,” Freddie said, sympathetic. He supposed traveling through time while you slept meant you didn’t technically _sleep_.

 

“So it’s the same day for you in the future?” Brian asked, crossing his arms and cocking his head.

 

Rami nodded tiredly. “Mhm. Filming was a _nightmare_.”

 

“I can imagine so,” Freddie said, rubbing his neck.

 

“Hey, did your phone keep all those things on it?” Roger called from the minibar, popping his head up curiously.

 

The way Rami froze was very telling. “... It... _did_ ,” he said quietly.

 

“Brilliant!” Roger and John turned to them, then, having finished throwing out all the glass. They were clearly more interested in whatever their guest had to say than doing anything about the alcohol in the carpet. “Have you shown us yet, then?”

 

The way Rami started wringing his wrists, too, was very, _very_ telling, but Brian spoke up before he could say anything. “You haven’t.” His voice was very tight, and it immediately caught Freddie’s attention.

 

Rami, looking very uncomfortable, dropped his chin to his chest and hesitantly shook his head. “I–”

 

“Why?”

 

“Brian...” Freddie warned. Roger and John watched warily from the other side of the minibar; they’d both sensed the brewing cauldron that was Brian May’s temper as well as he had.

 

“No, Fred,” Brian said. His voice was deceptively calm. “I want to hear what he has to say. We recorded all that for a reason, after all.”

 

“He’s only been back for a few hours, Brian, you can’t expect him to try and explain everything while he still has to film,” John said reasonably, but took a step back when Brian slammed his fist onto the minibar.

 

“What do you want me to say?” Rami pleaded, voice cracking halfway through.

 

“I want an explanation!” Brian told him heatedly. Rami shrunk back, and Freddie raised his hand to reassuringly squeeze his arm. “I want a reason, and a damn good one! We trusted you to tell us everything when you woke up and you clearly _haven’t_ –”

 

“I’m sorry, okay?!” Rami blurted out. “I’m sorry I – I went the whole morning hoping it was all just some kind of hyper-realistic dream and then had a fucking breakdown in the bathroom during lunch because I had to know for _sure_ , and I found out that I’d apparently gone back in time for _real_ , and for _fucking nothing_! That I’d landed in 1975 and there was proof of it right there on my phone – _on my phone!_ – and despite telling all of you what was going to happen because I have no sense of self-restraint it didn’t make a goddamn difference _anyway_!”

 

That shut Brian up, and Freddie heard when his teeth met with a click. John and Roger both seemed to be holding themselves up with the counter after Rami’s words sunk in, and Freddie himself shut his eyes as a cold weight dropped low in his stomach.

 

_Didn’t make a difference._

 

That could only mean one thing, after all: the thing they’d all spent the last ten years trying to simultaneously change and _forget_ within an inch of their lives. It had been a specter hanging over all of them since that day, and the idea, the _fact_ , that they’d really, truly done nothing of substance to alter the future...

 

He stopped.

 

_Hang on._

 

“Wait, you’re saying _nothing’s_ changed?” Freddie specified, moving his hand to Rami’s back. The poor lad had his face in his hands and his elbows on his knees, and was breathing like he wasn’t actually getting any air.

 

“That’s kind of what he said, Fred, yeah,” Roger confirmed faintly, and John let out a wheezy sigh beside him that sounded like he wanted to say something but nothing was coming to mind, but Freddie was just shaking his head.

 

“No – no, that can’t be right,” he said, really thinking about it now. “I fired Paul as soon as I could, remember? I made _sure_ of it. _That_ should have changed, at the very least, which means we should’ve changed _something_ , even if it was just that.”

 

“...Oh, _yeah_ ,” Roger agreed, scratching his cheek. John’s face then grew blank in thought, and Brian's expression morphed from one of pained acceptance to pointed inquisitiveness. “You dropped him ‘s fast as you could after we finished up. Can’t blame you, after what you told us.” He made a disgusted face.

 

“Right,” Freddie said with a nod. He glanced at Rami, and watched as he dropped his hands to stare at the floor, perplexed. “Did it _not_?”

 

Rami shook his head, a little dumbstruck. “I – well, _no_ , not that I know of, but it’s not like I looked up _everything_ to try and find inconsistencies, only the – only the big things.”

 

“So you could’ve just missed it?” John said shakily, and Rami shrugged helplessly.

 

“Maybe?” he replied uncertainly, playing with the sleeves of his shirt. “I don’t know, though, that doesn’t – I feel like I would know about it, though. We _are_ doing a movie _about Queen_ , you know, we have a guy playing Prenter in the film, he wouldn’t have such a big part if he hadn’t done what he did–”

 

“But he _didn’t_ do that,” Freddie told him, and Rami looked up in surprise. “Like Roger said, I dropped him as soon as I could. I wasn’t going to give him the chance to get away with what you said he did, not if I had anything to do with it.”

 

“What? But–” Rami blinked, trying to find the words. “I-I saw Allen today – we did _scenes_ together–”

 

“When did these scenes take place?" Brian asked, voice sharp. “What year? Or years?”

 

Rami was quiet for a few moments, and Freddie looked over to see John staring back with raised eyebrows and Brian with narrowed eyes and a hand on his chin. “The... early eighties? I think? Yeah, ‘cause I had the moustache.”

 

Roger couldn’t quite hold back his snort, and Rami and Freddie both sent him a short glare. “First of all, dear, don’t call it _the moustache_ ,” Freddie told him huffily, and Rami sheepishly averted his eyes. “Secondly, Paul was out of my life _far_ before 1980. I haven’t seen him in _years_.”

 

That seemed to strike Rami speechless, because all he did was gape and try to find the words to express what he was thinking. Freddie could guess, because he was thinking something similar; if nothing had really changed, the way Rami seemed to believe, then why was Paul such a big part of the film _then_ , when he was such a little part of their actual lives _now_? According to him and the fancy time travel films he apparently knew so much about, that kind of discrepancy wasn’t supposed to happen. It was an all or nothing scenario - you either changed everything, or you changed nothing. That was what _he’d said_.

 

And yet, somehow, it appeared Rami had done _both_.

 

“Rami,” Brian began, getting their attention. Freddie didn’t know what to make of his current expression. “Is it possible that you’re not... from... _our_ future?” He grimaced, clearly not liking how the words had come out.

 

“ _What_?” John barked, and Brian scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair.

 

“Like – like – you’re from – 2017, right? Still?” At Rami’s wary nod, he continued, “But clearly something’s not quite connected from _there_ to _here_ , because _why else_ would Paul’ve still been around for the film? Especially if Rog and I had a say in it, which it sounds like we _did_ , from what you’ve told us. The script would’ve had to’ve changed along with us getting rid of him, right?”

 

“Right...” Rami agreed. He seemed to be following along better than Freddie and Roger were; Freddie just made eye contact with Roger and shrugged helplessly when he raised his eyebrows to see if he had any idea what Brian was trying to convey. John, however, was looking between the two like he was doing his damnedest to solve a very complicated math problem.

 

“But apparently it _didn’t_ ,” Brian said, sounding a bit excited now. “And that has to be because nothing changed, right? But it _did_ – it just changed _here_ , and not _there_ , like you’re in some kind of–”

 

“ _Separate timeline_ ,” Rami finished, high-pitched. As Brian snapped his fingers and exclaimed, “ _Yes_! Exactly! I don’t know _how_ I forgot what the term was...”, Rami raised his hands to run through and tug at his hair, eyes wide and face pale. “ _Shit_ , I’m in a _parallel universe_? I made another _universe_?!”

 

“Is that... _good_?” Roger said uncertainly.

 

“It’s brilliant!” Brian replied, eyes blazing. “It means nothing’s set in stone anymore, which means–”

 

He didn’t get to finish his sentence before there was a series of pounding knocks at the door to the trailer and everything went still, and silent enough to hear a pin drop. “Ten minutes!” the voice outside told them before, assumingly, walking off, and they were all able to breathe again.

 

Freddie rubbed his hand over his mouth until his lips stopped trembling, and tuned Brian out when he started speaking again. He didn’t want to hear it, not right now. _Talk about fucking whiplash. Jesus Christ._ The dissonance between being essentially assured of his own death to told they might have actually altered the future so strongly that anything could happen just because he’d _fired Paul_ , all in the span of _ten bloody minutes_ , made his head spin, and he had to pinch the bridge of his nose until his eyes stopped burning. Rami was shaking under his other hand, and he could feel the chill radiating off of him through his shirt.

 

_Wait._

 

He opened his eyes again to peer at their resident time traveler, only to find his body switching violently between full and zero transparency every other second, the way it had years earlier when he’d been waking up back in his own time. Freddie couldn’t quite contain his grimace; seeing someone start blurring in and out of reality did _not_ sit well, no matter that he’d seen it happen before, and the nausea from the earlier revelation and nerves from their impending concert didn't help.

 

Rami seemed to’ve noticed what was going on, as well, as he was staring at his hands and flexing his fingers with a deep frown on his face. Freddie could feel his back muscles quivering under his hand.

 

He swallowed. “You’re waking up again?” he asked quietly, and Rami flinched at the sound of his voice, like he’d forgotten he was there.

 

He looked at him with wide eyes before nodding shakily and turning back to his hands. “U-um, yes – yes, I just...” He motioned towards the door. “I – I heard – I can hear _Joe_ , knocking on _my_ door. It’s...” He squeezed his eyes shut and bared his teeth. “Really weird.”

 

“Joe – that’s your friend, right?”

 

Rami nodded again, blinking a few times. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he said suddenly, in a rush. “I don’t–”

 

“Deep breaths, darling, you’ll be fine,” Freddie told him, patting his back decisively. “You’ll be awake before you know it.” _And we’ll have to deal with the fallout, yet again._ He couldn’t say it was a _bad_ thing, to be fair. He just wished it hadn’t happened minutes before they were due on stage to entertain the biggest audience they’d ever had.

 

“This isn’t supposed to _happen_ ,” Rami groaned, putting his head back in his hands. This complaint was apparently loud enough to catch the others’ attention, as they stopped bickering amongst themselves to turn to them. Freddie saw Roger cringe back and Brian mouth a surprised, “ _oh_ ” at his current state. “This is the kind of shit that happens in _sci-fi_ books and shit, it’s not supposed to happen in real _life_ –”

 

“We’re all kind of a bit _beyond_ science fiction at this point, mate,” Roger commented drily, which just made Rami say, “ _Not helping_!” through his hands. His body then flickered in and out wildly for a moment or two before settling on completely transparent.

 

He dropped his arms and kicked at the floor with his eyes squeezed shut. “Sorry, that was rude,” he said through clenched teeth, and Roger had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing.

 

Freddie shot him a glare that just made him gesture as if to say ‘what? It was funny!’. “ _Look_ , Rami,” he began, “Clearly you’ve done _something_ , even if it was, er...”

 

“Making an alternate reality,” Brian offered, and Freddie pointed at him and snapped his fingers.

 

“Yes, that.” He was going to need to take an entire day just to sort through the logistics of _that_ , but today was _not_ that day.

 

“But–”

 

“Look, it doesn’t _matter_ if you didn’t change anything in your time,” he told him. Rami cracked an eye open to look at him. “ _Honestly_. When you told me what I was going to go through, all those years ago, I went through the five stages of grief in about five seconds, and I’ve had ten years to come to terms with the fact that I might not be able to avoid it. Today, you’ve just given us the hope that I _can_.” He let that sink in, and selfishly used the time to keep his composure intact. Saying it out loud made it seem more real, more palpable, and he set his jaw. “Just because you didn’t change anything for _you_ doesn’t mean you haven’t changed anything for _us_ , darling. And besides, you still have all those things on your phone, so you can show everything to your Brian and Roger and John when you wake up – which you _will do_ , especially since now we know they have no memories of meeting you.” This was accompanied by a stern expression that made Rami wince guiltily again. “It’s not _our problem_ anymore. Apparently. Your time, that is. We just have to keep doing what we’ve been doing _here_ , and hope for the best. We could do whatever we'd like to, now, and screw the consequences.”

 

“ _Well_...” Brian said iffily, waving his hand in a ‘so-and-so' manner.

 

“ _We could do whatever we'd like to now_ ,” Freddie reiterated, making John and Roger both snort and Brian roll his eyes. “We could even fuck up this entire concert, if we felt like it.”

 

That got the boys all up in a huff, just like he’d intended, and he grinned when they all started in on how that was _mad_ , Fred, that was _not_ happening, and if he tried anything just to prove a point they were going to sick Deaky on him (to which the Deaky in question had replied, “I’m not an attack dog, but I agree”).

 

Rami just looked him up and down as the argument shifted into something about Roger’s _cymbals_ , somehow, then did the same to the other three. “You’re doing Live Aid, aren’t you?” It was phrased as a question, but didn’t quite come out as one.

 

Freddie, now the only one actually paying attention to him, nodded. He wondered briefly how he could possibly gather that from just their clothing before remembering that Rami was _playing him in a film_ and had likely watched this very performance a thousand times, and immediately dismissed the thought. Rami just cocked his head. “You’re gonna do great,” he said plainly, and gave him a crooked smile. His eyes were glassy, and Freddie felt a jolt of sympathy.

 

He cleared his throat with a cough. “Well, I thank you for the vote of confidence, my dear, but as I’d – _oof_!” Before he knew it, Rami had thrown his arms clumsily around him in a very awkward hug. It was clearly a spur of the moment kind of decision, and Freddie’s arms weren’t quite sure what to do with themselves aside from fumbling to reassuringly pat his back. “Now, now, dear, it’s alright–”

 

And, in the next breath, Rami winked out of existence.

 

Freddie caught himself before he could overbalance when his arms were suddenly dropped into thin air, and took a few seconds to gather his wits about him before shaking his head and sitting up straight again. _Just like last time._ He’d been thrown for a loop then, too. They all had, really, seeing someone just... _disappear_ like that, with no fanfare or big bang of light.

 

With Rami’s disappearance, however, came the pressing reminder that they had a few scant minutes to get ready and be on-stage. Freddie sucked in a long breath and let it out slowly. Every emotion leftover from the last fifteen whirlwind minutes surged together into a sea of adrenaline and determination that made his heart pound.

 

 _Well._ Rami _had_ said they were going to do great. Even if they weren’t exactly from _his_ past anymore, it wouldn’t do to disappoint.

 

The boys hadn’t seemed to’ve noticed yet that their visitor had left, so involved were they in their squabble, and Freddie fondly rolled his eyes before loudly clearing his throat, shaking out his arms, and fluidly climbing to his feet. “Enough of that, you three, we’ll have plenty of time to argue about whose ass is better later–”

 

“First of all, that is _not_ what we were talking about–” Brian began indignantly, only to be interrupted by Roger proudly claiming, “It’s mine and you know it–” before John cut through all of them with a startled, “Rami’s left.”

 

Brian and Roger’s eyes flitted between him and the empty couch they’d been on, equally surprised that they’d somehow missed it, but Freddie just dismissively waved his hand. His blood was really pumping now. “Well, it’s not like he was going to stick around forever, was he? Now, I think those ten minutes are nearly up – do you _really_ not want to fuck up this concert? Because being late is how we fuck up this concert.” He punctuated it with a smirk, and his words just started the bickering right back up again as everyone started moving to collect what they needed. It was _incredible_ , how quickly it could happen. Absolutely incredible.

 

At least Brian had been thoroughly distracted away from his anxiety, Freddie mused. He had been looking _far_ too ill earlier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sneak peak at ch. 11:
> 
> _Joe, to speak frankly, was a bit worried._
> 
> [edit 2] SINCE TWO PEOPLE NOW HAVE COMMENTED ON THIS brian being sick has NOTHING TO DO WITH FORESHADOWING and EVERYTHING TO DO WITH NERVES, I'm so sorry you thought it did. its just him being nervous about the biggest audience they've ever had to perform to, and that is ALL. _please_ don't read more into it


	11. joe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the first chapter with joe! and in case you couldn't tell from the new tags he and rami's friendship is a big part of the rest of this. I've written how they react the way me and _my_ best friend would react if one of us went through this, as we have _also_ known each other over ten years, and as a result they're gonna be pretty affectionate for the rest of the fic. if you're uncomfortable with that then I'm sorry but I do like to think he and rami have a pretty solid affectionate relationship. _they are going to cuddle later_. they are going to cuddle _a lot_ later. just be forewarned lol
> 
> this is also more of a filler chapter? the plot doesn't particularly move anywhere, its just joe's perspective of the situation for about 2k before we get moving again in the next. the way I've written joe's narration is more humorous, too, since he seems like a goofy kinda guy. hopefully you enjoy the change of pace

Joe, to speak frankly, was a bit worried.

 

(More than a bit, actually.)

 

Rami had been acting weird all day – weirder than just a simple ‘he didn’t sleep last night’. He’d _seen_ Rami on no night’s sleep before, and this wasn’t quite that. Or, at least, not _completely_ that. He could’ve written it off as him having horrible, horrible nightmares (which _had_ happened before, if only _once_ before, years ago), but it didn’t... feel the same.

 

It felt more like he’d gotten awful news in the middle of the night, and was trying to hide it.

 

Like, ‘a family member is in the hospital in critical condition’ awful news.

 

Despite all of his incredibly subtle attempts to get Rami to tell him what was wrong, he’d kept a tight lid on it – even after lunch, when he’d come back to set looking... well. Like _that_. He’d shared looks with Gwil and Ben behind Rami’s back that could only be described as _deeply concerned_ , and had done his best to let Rami know that he was here for him if he wanted to talk about it, but still no dice. He’d had a moment, actually, where he’d wondered if he was being a shitty friend by being too invasive (Rami liked his privacy, after all), but he couldn’t just tell his worry to cool its jets and wait it out. Rami was his _friend_ – and he’d been fine yesterday!

 

So something was up.

 

Something _serious_ was up.

 

The good news was that he was apparently _not_ a shitty friend, because Rami had asked him to come over later. Ostensibly to tell him what the fuck was going on, even though he’d told him the shittiest excuse he’d ever heard. _“I just wanna hang out.”_ Yeah, _okay_ , man. (They hung out _plenty_.)

 

He’d been ready to book it the fuck over to Rami's trailer the second they wrapped that day, but only just managed to contain himself. No need to overwhelm the guy; just gotta take it easy. They were _just hanging out_ , after all.

 

So instead of rushing through wardrobe and makeup and making the lovely individuals in charge of those things furious at him, he sat through the un-actor-ing process with all the dignity of someone who was _this close_ to vibrating out of their skin. (That _had_ kinda pissed off one of the makeup artists, to be fair, but all he’d been able to do is give them an apologetic look and a half-shrug. He _literally_ couldn’t stop fidgeting.)

 

The problem now was that Rami wasn’t answering the door.

 

_Goddamnit._

 

He’d given him enough time to get off set and get comfortable – he _absolutely_ had, he’d timed his departure and everything – and now, he was being blatantly ignored just outside his trailer. Joe took his phone out, pulling up Rami’s number and shooting him a quick text that he was able to compress to say “i'm here dude” instead of the paragraph he’d _actually_ wanted to say that basically would’ve amounted to “I’m already worried about you and you not answering the door when _you_ asked me to come over in the first place is making this worry increase tenfold, please respond”.

 

He was able to contain himself for another two whole minutes before he sent off another text; “dude.”

 

Still nothing.

 

_Okay–_

 

Joe knocked on the door again. “Ram? You in there?” _Maybe he fell asleep._ Yeah, he’d looked exhausted today. Joe could believe that.

 

This time he was able to hold out for nearly five minutes (a new record) before taking his phone back out; “dude really”.

 

This, too, was met with radio silence.

 

_Alright, that’s it._

 

He knocked on the door one more time. “You’d better be decent, man, ‘cause I’m coming in.”

 

(Luckily, the door was unlocked, otherwise he would’ve looked like a fool, trying to open a locked door in broad daylight. Or, sundown-light, he guesses; the sky was already that pink-orange color it got at sunset. Even more reason for him to be under a roof somewhere.)

 

As he shut the door behind him, he caught sight of Rami _right fucking there on his bed_ , what the _hell_ – but the tiny burst of irritation that image’d caused disappeared when he saw that, yes, Rami was absolutely passed the fuck out. Sitting up against the wall with his legs out in front of him and his phone at the foot of the bed, yes, but a hundred percent out cold. The angle his head was resting at did not look comfortable _at_ all.

 

Joe sighed. _Oh, Rami._

 

He shoved his phone back in his pocket before moving over to flip on the closest lamp to light up the place and sitting on the bed, tucking his legs up under him and shaking one of Rami’s. As much as he looked like he needed the sleep, this was _not_ the position for it. “Come on, man, you’re not even in your pajamas. Who wears their shoes to bed?”

 

Rami grunted and his face scrunched up, shifting uncomfortably and clenching and unclenching his fists in the sheets under him. Joe furrowed his eyebrows, leaning over to grab Rami’s shoulder and squeezing it. He felt very cold through his shirt, and Joe frowned. _Maybe he was getting sick?_ “Hey, hey, I’m here. You okay?” _What a stupid question._ Of _course_ he wasn’t okay. But, y’know. It felt like the kind of thing to say. _It’s not like he’s super awake anyway._

 

The frown on Rami’s face deepened, and he whimpered low in his throat. Joe bit the inside of his cheek. _Shit._ Maybe it _was_ nightmares. What could’ve brought them on, though? _Stress, maybe._ That’s true. But Rami'd been way more stressed their first few days of filming; he’d seemed to be doing just fine now.

 

_Doesn’t have to be stress about filming._

 

Well. That’s true, too.

 

Joe shifted closer, actively trying to wake him up, now. “Come on, Ram, you’re alright,” he told him, moving his hand up to slap his cheek a little. _Geez, he’s_ really _cold._

 

The moment he did, Rami’s hand shot up and grabbed his forearm, and Joe squeaked in surprise and jolted back a little at the sudden movement. Shaking the surprise off, the first thing he noticed was the way Rami’s chest was heaving for breath, followed by just how tight his grip was on his arm. His eyes were wide open, staring at Joe like it was the first time he’d ever seen him. The expression on his face was one of heartbreak, and Joe's breath caught in his throat.

 

“ _Joe_ ,” he sobbed, before collapsing forward into Joe’s chest and nearly knocking the air right out of him. He instinctively wrapped his arms around his back, rubbing his hands up and down his spine as he cried into his shoulder and gripped at his shirt like a lifeline. “Whoa, hey, hey hey hey, you’re okay, man, you’re okay, I’m here, Ram, I’m here, I’m here...”

 

Joe had to admit – he had _not_ been expecting _this_.

 

But _hell_ if he was leaving here without an explanation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sneak peak at ch. 12:
> 
> _He probably looked like a goddamn mess, his eyes bloodshot and lips trembling and face pink and with an awful post-cry headache, but Joe didn’t say anything about it[.]_


	12. rami

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isn't gonna be relevant until the last chapter but I'm not sure I _want_ to write brian and roger's reactions? I know you all are probably hoping for it but idk I feel like leaving it up to the imagination would make it better than anything I could possibly write down? now that I'm thinking about it I might write it though... ugh I dunno I only have the barest ideas of what I _would_ write and I don't think I can flesh it out in time for another chapter update.. I've been updating on a regular one day schedule bc I've had everything written up till now.. I'm conflicted

Joe gave really, really great hugs.

 

“’M sorry...”

 

“Don’t _apologize_ , Rami, geez.”

 

Joe had shifted them so they were both sitting upright and vaguely against the wall. Rami was half-hunched over, still occasionally wiping at his face when another tear would break through the emotional barrier he was desperately trying to erect and traitorously run down his cheek. He probably looked like a goddamn mess, his eyes bloodshot and lips trembling and face pink and with an awful post-cry headache, but Joe didn’t say anything about it, just kept both his arms securely wrapped around him and kept Rami’s head comfortingly tucked under his chin. It was a little awkward, since they were the same height and their legs were tangled together, but it worked.

 

“I got snot all over your shirt,” Rami argued, but even he could hear how weakly it came out. He could see the wet stain on Joe’s shoulder from here, though, and he couldn’t help feeling bad about it.

 

Joe just snorted. “Dude, that is the _least_ of my concerns right now.”

 

Rami winced, and guilt bloomed in his gut. “Joe, I–”

 

“If you’re gonna apologize again, I’m gonna pinch you.”

 

“Don’t _pinch_ me.”

 

“ _Then quit saying you’re sorry, dumbass._ You’re my friend; of _course_ I’m gonna be worried when you start crying.”

 

Rami snorted, as well, though his was full of mucus and it made him have to clear his throat. “You want a tissue?” Joe asked.

 

“Yes, please,” Rami whispered, and held back a whimper by the skin of his teeth when Joe let go of him and carefully detangled their legs to grab one. _Fuck, why were the only tissues in this goddamn trailer so far away?_ Joe’s ten second absence _did_ give him ample time to focus on something else, however, against his own wishes.

 

Namely, his phone, from where it was still lying innocuously at the foot of the bed.

 

_Motherfucker._

 

Joe returned with the entire box and dropped it into Rami’s lap. Before he could climb back onto the mattress Rami said, before he could stop himself, “Could you grab my phone, please?” and Joe, because he was great friend, did. The second it was back in his hand Rami wanted to chuck it against the goddamn wall. Joe also took the time to take Rami’s sneakers off and throw them in the general direction of the door, followed by his own, because Joe was a _great fucking friend_. Rami fiercely wiped at his eyes when they teared up again.

 

“Scoot over; I’m gonna spoon you. It’s a spooning kinda night,” Joe told him, and Rami huffed out a laugh, but did as he was asked and pushed himself down the bed far enough for Joe to sidle in behind him. He then found himself cradled between Joe’s legs against his chest, and felt his arms curl back around him with his clasped hands on his stomach. It was really comfortable, and Rami let out a shaky sigh as Joe planted his chin on his shoulder.

 

After he blew his nose and tossed the used tissue to the floor, there was a nice silence for a few minutes where neither of them talked and Rami just tried to match his breaths to Joe’s where he could feel them against his back. Maybe if he kept his eyes shut long enough the temptation to destroy his phone would go away. _Not likely._

 

Joe shifted and squeezed him a little. “Wanna watch Mythbusters?” He kept his voice quiet, likely just as afraid to break the silence as Rami was, and he felt a rush of gratitude over the fact that Joe wasn’t trying to pry what was going on out of him the way he had been earlier. It made him tear up again, though, which was absolutely _not_ as welcome. _This emotional tailspin bullshit better cut it the fuck out, quick._

 

Rami sniffled and let out a tiny noise, turning his head to knock his temple against Joe’s cheek. “I...” Joe didn’t push, but Rami felt him tense up a little behind him, and he let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Jesus _Christ_ , Joe, I don’t...”

 

“You don’t _have_ to tell me, Rami,” Joe said softly, and Rami laughed again, too shrill and too short. “No, really–”

 

“I _want_ to!” Rami asserted, and realized the moment he said it that it was actually true. _Better him than Brian or Roger._ Baby steps, baby steps– “I – I just – I _can’t_ –” _I can’t say it. I can’t say it out loud._ He grit his teeth, squeezed his phone hard enough to hurt, then peeled one of Joe’s hands away from his stomach to give the phone to him before he could actively stop himself. The second he did, he wanted to snatch it back, and occupied his hands by shoving them under his armpits instead. “I need you to go to my camera roll,” he told him, in a voice stronger than he felt. Most of him was screaming something about what the _fuck he was thinking._ “You remember my passcode, right?”

 

“Uh, yeah, y-yeah–” Joe fumbled with the phone for a bit before he opened it one-handed and maneuvered to the photo app. Rami, feeling suddenly very nauseous, turned his head away and took more than a few calming breaths that did absolutely fuck all to calm him down.

 

The way Joe went unnaturally still as he swiped through his photos made Rami want to vomit. _Instead_ of doing that (it’s not like he had anything to throw up, anyway; he’d barely eaten all day), he stared very, very hard at the wall and tried to ignore how Joe was barely breathing.

 

It felt like hours before he heard him say anything, which was a muttered, “holy _shit_ ” followed by him shifting again. Rami’s eyes darted down against his better judgment to find the screen filled with the tiny little thumbnails of everything that’d been taken or recorded... _there_ , and he found himself unable to look away, despite how his mouth went dry, when Joe tapped on the very last video in the camera roll.

 

He’d already watched it so many times, but it was somehow ten times more surreal when it wasn’t just _him_ listening to Queen harmonize something on the spot with a message that it was for _him, specifically_. It felt... more palatable, maybe. Now that he knew for sure that he hadn’t just been having a mass hallucination since this morning, and was able to share it with someone and not have them think he’d lost his mind.

 

The video came to a stop, and Rami felt Joe cock his head on his shoulder. He took in a breath, and Rami held his. “Well, now I know you aren't just some closet photoshop wizard or something,” he murmured, and Rami couldn’t quite stop himself from giggling at the comment.

 

The giggles turned into pathetic sobs in a moment’s notice, and he raised his hands to hide his face while Joe said, “Oh, Ram, hey–” and wrapped both arms back around him, phone still in hand. “Come on, I’m not that bad, am I?” he asked, voice cracking mid-sentence, and Rami snorted grossly and with too much mucus, letting Joe start rocking them back and forth. It helped, he could admit that, and Rami found himself using the tissues in his lap to try and find his composure again quicker than he had earlier, which was good. _I can’t believe I’ve broken down twice in less than an hour. What the hell, man._

 

As Rami was wiping at his eyes yet again, wincing at how raw his eyelids and cheeks were, Joe cleared his throat. “So, uh, what, uh – did you, like... find a time machine and not tell me, or...?” His tone made it clear he was half-joking, but the half that wasn’t trying to find humor in the situation was full of something suspicious, something anxious, something fearful.

 

That was fair, Rami figured. He was _still_ having trouble coming to terms with it. _Obviously._

 

He huffed, and felt his lips twitch. “No, not, uh, not – not quite.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sneak peak at ch. 12:
> 
> _Joe could admit that this was_ not _the explanation he’d been expecting, but it was a damn good one. I mean, who would’ve expected_ time travel _?_


	13. joe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more half-filler half-plot! I really like writing joe's chapters lmao, I can be more loose in my narration
> 
> I've also started writing brian and roger's reactions... but I'm not very far in it yet so who knows if it'll be done by monday. (who knows if it'll get done at _all_ , tbh..) so y'know
> 
> enjoy the friend shenanigans and cuddles folks. and more rami h/c ff

Okay.

 

So Rami had somehow created a parallel universe.

 

That was... _cool_?

 

“It’s not _cool_ , Joe.”

 

“I mean, it’s _kinda cool_ , dude,” Joe said, using Rami’s shoulder as a chin rest while he swiped through his camera roll yet again.

 

It was goddamn incredible, is what it was. The guy had footage of himself playing piano with _Freddie fucking Mercury_. That was _pretty fucking cool_ , Rami.

 

The good news is that, after spilling his guts (about how he’d fallen asleep last night and woken up at a barn, how he discovered that he apparently _wasn’t_ dreaming and that it was for _real_ , how he somehow found himself being taught to play piano by Freddie Mercury himself, how he couldn’t fucking stop himself from telling him to his face about his own death which in turn led to him having a _giant shouting match_ with _Freddie Mercury_ about time travel physics before getting to witness the beginnings of one of the best songs ever made to date be composed right in front of him, and how he’d then woken up back in his trailer like nothing had happened until lunch that day when he couldn’t contain his curiosity anymore and had a breakdown over how he’d apparently done fuck-all to change the past – and _then_ , about how, when he’d fallen asleep _earlier_ , he’d somehow been thrown through time and space _again_ to show up minutes before the band was _due onstage at Live Aid_ and learned that, instead of changing _their_ past, he’d somehow accidentally created a brand spanking new parallel universe where who _knows_ what could happen), Rami seemed to’ve calmed down _properly_. He was no longer on the constant verge of tears, something Joe could tell he was thrilled about, and was instead watching Joe look through his phone with only the occasional sniffle. Talking about it seemed to have let his emotions drain like an infected wound.

 

(Joe could admit that this was _not_ the explanation he’d been expecting, but it was a damn good one. I mean, who would’ve expected _time travel_? He was still a little in shock himself, and he wasn’t even the one who’d gone through it. He had no idea how Rami was holding it together as well as he was, honestly.)

 

“...Okay, it’s kind of cool,” Rami grudgingly agreed, and elbowed him when he snorted. “He said you make a good John Deacon, by the way.”

 

This was said as if he was just talking about the weather, and he heard Rami stifle a snicker when Joe couldn’t quite hold back his surprised squeak. “You – _what_? What, did you show him _pictures_ of me?”

 

“Hey, he’s the one who asked,” Rami said, still sounding grossly amused at Joe’s expense, and Joe scoffed in disbelief, squeezing Rami hard around the stomach to get him to stop shaking with laughter.

 

“You’re _horrible_ ,” he complained with a pout, focusing back on Rami’s phone when that started up his giggles again. He paused when the screen landed on a video with Freddie Mercury front and center in what looked like a very outdated bathroom. It was a blurry screenshot with a play button in the middle, but Joe could see the way the man was biting his lip hard enough to draw blood and the way his eyes looked a bit too bright for the light of the room with little problem.

 

He shut his eyes, and felt Rami go still. “...Rami–”

 

“I-I know, I _know_ , okay?” he said, drawing his legs up and rubbing at his arms like he needed to get warm. Joe couldn’t see his face from where he was, but he could hear the distress loud and clear in his voice. “I know I have to...” Joe heard an audible gulp, and Rami let out a shaky breath. “... show Brian and Roger... Christ, why _me_ –”

 

“D’you want me to do it?” he offered, and felt Rami jerk in his arms before he was squirming away far enough to look him in the eye. He knew then and there that Rami wanted literally nothing more than that, but that it was going to be an event trying to get him to agree that it was a good idea.

 

“Joe–”

 

“Rami, trust me,” Joe told him in no uncertain terms. “I’ll send them a text, explain the situation, send them a few pictures and the videos, and then I’ll turn off your phone and throw it to the other side of the room so you don’t have to worry about it the rest of the night.”

 

Rami gaped at him, at that, before sputtering a little and slapping his arm. “Don’t – don’t do _that_!”

 

“Why not? You _know_ they’re gonna be blowing up your phone the second it gets to them–”

 

“I can’t just _not answer their questions_ , Joe–”

 

“Uh, yes, yes you can, because I’m gonna tell them everything.”

 

Rami went quiet, at that. “... _Everything_?”

 

“Everything,” Joe confirmed with a nod. “If I tell them everything you told me, they won’t _have_ any questions, will they? I mean, it’s not like _you_ know how it happened, you can’t tell them _that_ , but you’ve basically told me everything, right? I mean, _I_ can’t think of anything to ask that you haven’t given me the answer for already.”

 

“I – I think so, but–”

 

“Nope, no buts, this is a no buts situation, Rami,” Joe stated, extracting himself from their cuddle session with more fluidity than he’d thought he was capable of and sliding off the bed.

 

Rami’s hand shot out and grabbed the hem of his shirt before he could get any further. The expression on his face was akin to sheer terror. ”Joe, _don’t_ –”

 

 _Shit._ “Hey, whoa, Rami, _breathe_ ,” he ordered, using his free hand to pry Rami’s fingers off his shirt and just holding it while he brought himself back down. His grip was very tight, but Joe willed himself to not let that show. He sighed instead, and a hot pit of shame welled in his gut at how poorly he’d read how well Rami was coping. He was clearly still on edge, even if he wasn’t perilously dangling over it anymore. He'd thought getting it over with would help, like ripping off a band-aid, but... “Well, _that’s_ not gonna work, then.”

 

“’M sorry...”

 

“What did I say about apologizing?” Rami looked away, biting his lip, and Joe sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “ _I’m_ sorry, Rami, I shouldn’t’ve been... pushing you like that–”

 

“No, I–” Rami swallowed, and loosened his grip. “I – I needed a push. I just – can it – wait? A little longer? I don’t... I won’t be able to handle it tonight, I–”

 

“Yeah, yeah, no, that’s fine, Ram, that’s fine,” Joe assured him quickly, and held his phone out for him to take back, but drew it away again when Rami cringed away from it like it was some kind of bear trap. “Or _not_ , we could _not_ do that, that’s fine too–”

 

Rami groaned, and let go of Joe’s hand to scrub both of his own over his face. He dropped back down on the bed, flinging his arms out to the sides and staring pitifully at the ceiling. “How about I just turn this off and set it over here, then, huh?” Joe said faintly, and did so before Rami had even finished fervently nodding his head.

 

Once Rami’s phone was officially off, he set it face-down on the bedside table and ran his own hand over his face. When that didn’t quite give him the desired effect of snapping him out of his funk, he slapped both of his cheeks and stretched his arms over his head until his back cracked. That didn’t quite do the job, either, but he didn’t feel any worse, so he let it go for now.

 

Rami, still staring at the ceiling, didn’t see him coming until he was already pinching his stomach through his shirt, and he squealed and jerked away from him, scooting up the bed on his elbows.

 

The glare he sent him was one of utter betrayal, but he had at least successfully distracted him from getting trapped in his own head again. “ _Joseph Mazzello_ –!”

 

“Hey, I told you I’d pinch you if you kept apologizing!” Joe used as an excuse, fighting down a grin that Rami absolutely saw right through, because he scoffed, scandalized. Joe held out his hand, which Rami glared at distrustfully. “Come on; we’re having a sleepover, and you can’t have a sleepover without PJs.”

 

Rami rolled his eyes, but took Joe’s hand anyway. “ _Sleepover_ ,” he repeated, curling his lip as he got to his feet. Joe didn’t let go of him until Rami looked like he could actually stand on his own without toppling over at the slightest breeze. “You didn’t even bring any pajamas, you nerd.”

 

“Well, yeah, but I can just use yours,” Joe said, propping his hip on the bedside table and crossing his arms as Rami moved to the dresser he had in his trailer to rummage around for some sleepwear. “We're the same size, it’ll be fine.”

 

“You’ll stretch out any shirt I give you and you know it.”

 

“Perhaps,” Joe replied haughtily, which made Rami shake his head, but he bunched up a shirt and threw it at him anyway. It hit him dead in the face, which made them both crack up.

 

 _Yeah,_ Joe mused as he pulled his own shirt off and folded it to put on the one Rami had thrown at him. It had a bunch of tiny little cacti on it, which was just adorable. _We’re gonna be alright._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sneak peak at ch. 14:
> 
> _About an hour and a half passed where the only thing of note that happened was Rami turning over in his sleep so he was facing the wall and his back was to him (which his shoulder very much appreciated)._


	14. joe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for not elaborating more on what goes on in this, but uh. frankly I just didn't wanna write this from rami's pov. its a lot easier if I leave what happened to your imagination than trying to make something profound enough to make an impact. I might write it from rami's pov later and add it as an alternative chapter but who knows
> 
> also plot devices!

Joe, as the self-appointed responsible one for the evening, forced Rami to eat half the stash of granola bars he had in his trailer (because that was all he could find) to make up for him not eating most of the day. He’d then gone on to pillage through the meager medicine cabinet for some advil, and got him a _fresh_ glass of water to down it with, since the one on the bedside table had apparently been there since _last night_ , which was _unacceptable_. Luckily Rami drank the whole thing without him having to tell him to. _At least he can_ tell _he’s dehydrated._

 

After that, it was just a matter of turning the lights off, squeezing back together side-by-side in Rami’s bed, and putting on some How It’s Made videos (as Mythbusters was just _too_ exciting).

 

Rami was out cold in less than twenty minutes.

 

Joe could tell right away, because he’d basically become deadweight against his shoulder and started letting out the quietest snores he’d ever heard. He snorted, shifting a little so his arm wouldn’t go numb and turning the volume down on his phone with his other hand. He wasn’t anywhere near as tired – in fact, he was a bit _too_ awake; being told your friend had had his own little sci-fi adventure would do that to you – so he just settled in for the long haul with a sigh. _Thank god we have a free day tomorrow; I’m probably not gonna sleep at_ all _tonight._

 

About an hour and a half passed where the only thing of note that happened was Rami turning over in his sleep so he was facing the wall and his back was to him (which his shoulder very much appreciated). Joe was just contemplating switching over to netflix to watch something gross and soppy that Rami would probably hate when something lit up at his side.

 

Joe glanced over, curious, and saw the light coming from – uh... Rami’s... _phone_? _Wait–_

 

Joe’s eyebrows furrowed, and he set his own phone down in his lap to reach over and grab Rami’s from the bedside table. _I_ definitely _turned this off._ Right? No, he’d _definitely_ turned it off. But there it was, showing the lock screen and–

 

He stopped, and blinked.

 

It was _typing in the passcode by itself_.

 

 _Oh, dude, what the_ fuck _._

 

Joe watched in stunned silence as the phone unlocked on its own and then proceeded to open the camera app, and felt his heart stop when Rami popped onto the screen. He looked like he was inside his trailer – in daylight, since it was bright enough to actually see him – and seemed to be talking to someone on the other side of the phone as he fiddled with the camera.

 

At least two photos were taken and saved as he watched, both of which were followed by Rami mouthing cuss words to himself, before an older man wearing a floppy straw hat moved into frame and Joe sucked in a sharp breath.

 

_No fucking way._

 

He glanced over to Rami – _his_ Rami – who was still fast asleep with his back to him. He couldn’t hear him snoring anymore, and he was barely moving as he breathed. Joe turned back to the phone screen, saw another photo be taken, this time with both Rami and the man in it, and then reached over and shook Rami’s shoulder.

 

The Rami on screen flinched and fumbled with his phone, while the one beside him grunted and curled in a little tighter on his side. His body felt very cold through his t-shirt, from where Joe’s hand was still resting on his shoulder. _Unnaturally_ cold, like a walk-in freezer.

 

The way it had earlier.

 

When Rami’d said he’d been sent to that parallel universe again.

 

_Okay. Okay, alright, okay–_

 

He grabbed his phone out of his lap and clambered out of the bed with less composure than he would’ve liked. He may have almost tripped and fell flat on his face, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that _Rami was back in that parallel universe and Joe could see him and Freddie fucking Mercury through his phone_.

 

“Okay, don’t freak out, _don’t freak out_ ,” he told himself while absolutely freaking the fuck out, stumbling into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him with his back. It was even darker in here, and when he flipped the lights on he had to blink stars out of his eyes. He shook his head. “Focus, _focus_ –”

 

What was he trying to focus on, anyway? What was he supposed to _do_? It’s not like he could communicate with them, save for waking Rami up, and he sure as fuck wasn’t gonna do _that_.

 

Jesus Christ, they were _in Rami’s trailer_.

 

 _Freddie Mercury_ was _in Rami’s trailer_.

 

And he was _old_.

 

Which, uh, sounded a little disrespectful, now that he thought about it, but– y’know what, that’s not important. What’s important was that Rami hadn’t gone back to 1975, or 19 _85_ , he’d just – what, swapped places with himself? They’d definitely been in 2017, he knew that much, or else Rami’s trailer wouldn’t’ve been a part of it, and the idea of, uh, two Ramis existing at the same time and _interacting with each other_ kind of made his head spin.

 

 _Guess Rami’d made a difference after all,_ he thought hysterically, followed by, _the guy looks pretty good for being in his seventies_. He’d had a full salt-n-pepper beard and a few wrinkles, but he could still tell it was _Freddie Mercury_.

 

“ _Okay_ ,” he said again, slapping his cheek and nearly poking his eye out with the corner of the phone he’d forgotten was in his hand. Frustrated, he shoved the phone – his – into the pocket of his borrowed sweatpants and stepped in front of the sink to stare at himself in the mirror. He could still see the screen on Rami’s phone moving out of the corner of his eye. “Fucking–”

 

 _You know what. Let’s try something out._ What was the spice of life, if not trying to contact a rock legend in another universe through his friend’s phone?

 

He drew in a breath, and focused back on the screen. It looked like Rami was holding it in his lap, now, because all Joe could see was his chest and the bottom of his chin as he spoke, so he sucked it up and pressed the home button.

 

It went to the home screen.

 

 _Passed step one._ He could still interact with Rami’s phone here. Awesome. Great.

 

He then brought up the notes, which he knew Rami never used, and started typing; “Rami you there?”

 

It felt like an hour passed before anything happened, which was the phone typing by itself again. Or, rather, _Rami_ typing, from somewhere out there. “Joe?”

 

 _Holy shit, it actually worked._ He couldn’t reply fast enough; “Rami I’m going to kick your ass when you wake up”.

 

Nailed it. 

 

Another pause that felt like it lasted too long. “Freddie said don’t do that please”.

 

Joe had to lean his elbows on the sink and bow his head to catch his breath. He felt like his heart was in his throat. _Rami was talking to Freddie Mercury. Rami was talking to Freddie Mercury because he made a parallel universe and got sent there while he slept._ He had the sudden realization that it might not have properly sank in until that very moment that this was happening, like, for real. _No wonder Rami was so fucked up today. Jesus Christ._

 

How does something like this _happen_ without, like, Star Trek shit going down? Should he be looking for _aliens_ right now?

 

When he looked back at Rami’s phone Rami had added, “What time is it?”

 

He let out a bark of laughter. “I don’t know like 10 or something? I’m kind of freaking out here man I don’t have a clock on me”.

 

“Don’t freak out Joe it’s fine”.

 

“It’s actually NOT FINE Rami it’s explicitly NOT FINE how are you NOT FREAKING OUT RIGHT NOW”.

 

“I’ve done this like two times already it’s fine. Look I think I’m in this Rami’s body? I didn’t even know if this was MY phone or not until you started typing so thank you”.

 

A huff. “Is that why I saw you on the camera? You were trying to see if you could get more photos?”

 

“Yes”. A pause. “Freddie insisted”.

 

Joe winced. _Yeah. Yeah, he could understand that._ He groaned, thumping his forehead on the mirror in front of him. Telling Brian and Roger the situation at some point in the near future had just gotten ten times more complicated.

 

Rami was typing again; “Was that you shaking me earlier?”

 

“Yeah I saw you flinch on the camera. You felt it over there?” He’d known that, really, deep down, but it was still... _more_ than weird.

 

“Yeah”. Another pause. “I’m going to need you to wake me up”.

 

Joe blinked, stunned. “Beg pardon? Excuse me? Could you repeat that?” Why the fuck did he _want_ to wake up? If he were in his shoes, he’d be doing everything in his power to stay there as long as possible just to _talk_ to the guy, and that wasn’t even taking into account trying to learn all the inconsistencies that probably existed–

 

“Jesus Joe it’s not hard. I’m basically stealing this Rami’s time. If I’m here the whole day then HE’S going to have a whole day where he can’t remember anything that happened. That’s kind of fucked up”.

 

… He had a point. Joe groaned out loud again. “You remember when I said I’m going to kick your ass? I’m going to kick your ass. I don’t care what Freddie Mercury says I’m giving you a noogie when you wake up and you can’t stop me”.

 

“Yeah sure just hurry up okay”.

 

Joe scoffed. _Rude._

 

He turned back to the door and had his hand on the doorknob when he saw Rami add, “Actually hang on Freddie wants the phone”.

 

_Oh, god. Am I gonna have to talk to Freddie Mercury?_

 

More typing. “He wants to record something for Brian and Roger and John”.

 

_Ah._

 

He continued, “Don’t look. Actually I don’t know if you’ll be able to hear him when he talks if he’s recording something can you just leave it in the bathroom?”

 

“Of course. How about you play your alarm super loud so I know when you’re ready to wake up?”

 

“Sounds good”, and a few seconds passed before the phone returned to the home screen. Joe hurriedly placed Rami’s phone on the sink and exited the bathroom, shutting the door decisively behind him. Plunged back into almost complete darkness, it all felt pretty surreal, standing here in Rami’s trailer knowing Rami himself was out there somewhere else in the light. He could see Rami’s outline on the bed from here, and approached it to sit down heavily on the edge and sigh.

 

God.

 

This was certainly _one_ way for his night to go.

 

Time seemed to move twice as fast and as slow as possible simultaneously in the time it took for Rami’s phone to _finally_ start blaring from the bathroom. It was muffled by door, but not nearly muffled enough that he couldn’t hear it loud and clear. He retrieved it as quickly as he could just to shut it up (hearing it at full volume that close was _not_ great for his ears, frankly) before returning to the bed and flipping on the lamp to give him something to see by. Rami had rolled onto his back by then, and his hands, at his sides, were clutching the sheets like his life depended on it, although his face remained distinctly blank.

 

Joe sighed angrily. “This _sucks_ ,” he muttered, running his free hand through his hair and tugging at it. “Why do _I_ have to wake you up, huh? Why can’t you just pinch yourself awake; that always works in movies, doesn’t it?”

 

But, of course, this was met with silence, so Joe just sighed again and reached over to start shaking him, trying to ignore how cold he was. _Is this a weird ‘you just traveled to a parallel universe’ side effect?_ Probably. Rami, however, was unmoved; the only thing that changed about his expression was a slight furrowing of his eyebrows.

 

“Goddamnit, Rami, don’t make this harder than it has to be,” he hissed, moving his hand up to slap his cheek again. _Maybe skin contact is the ticket?_ It’d worked earlier.

 

And it worked now. Rami’s hand came up to grab his wrist again, slower than it had the first time, but holding on just as tight. Joe was pleased to say he didn’t jump at the contact this time. He watched as Rami’s eyes opened, staring first at the ceiling for several tense seconds before turning his head to him, and he swallowed.

 

His eyes were wet with tears. _Again._

 

Joe's throat worked silently for a moment or two until he eventually settled on the classic, “Hey.”

 

“...Hey,” Rami said back, just as quiet. He scooted onto his elbows without letting go of Joe’s arm.

 

“...You, uh.” Joe cleared his throat. “You good? I mean, stupid question, I know, but–”

 

“Yeah,” Rami said. He cocked his head and sat up properly, moving his other hand into his lap and staring at it with something like awe. It was still clenched into a fist. “Yeah.” He opened it, and Joe sucked in a breath through his teeth.

 

There, sitting in Rami’s palm, was a corded bracelet made out of worn yellow leather.

 

A bracelet that Joe had never seen before, and that he knew Rami didn’t own.

 

_Holy shit._

 

“I’m good,” Rami said, sounding more like himself than he had all day. Joe looked back at his face to find him smiling through his tears. _Happy_ tears. “I’m good.” He dropped Joe’s arm to wipe at his eyes, and started chuckling.

 

Joe couldn’t help but join him with a huff of laughter of his own. He looked back at the bracelet and handed Rami the box of tissues off the bedside table when he made grabby-hands for it. “Well? Are you gonna put it on or what?”

 

Rami laughed again, drying off his cheeks. “I just got back, gimme a second, would you?”

 

“Sorry if I’m excited my friend got a present from _Freddie Mercury_.”

 

That earned him another laugh before Rami blew his nose, and Joe allowed himself a relieved smile. Whatever had gone down over there, whatever conversation he must’ve had with the man himself, it’d seemed to have done him _some_ good, at the very least. Offered... _some_ sense of closure.

 

Rami crumpled up the tissue and threw it around Joe to the floor so he could slip the bracelet onto his wrist. He did so reverently, like he wasn’t even sure it was really there, and he kept his other hand over it once it was secured as tight as he could get it, like he was afraid he was going to lose it. Joe could understand that. He couldn’t take his eyes off it, either. Photos and videos were one thing; having something of substance that you could touch and hold in your hand was something else entirely.

 

“It sucks I can’t wear it while filming,” Rami said despondently, running his fingertips over the leather. “I don’t wanna take it off.”

 

 _If I take it off it won’t be real,_ Joe heard, and he nodded sadly. “Maybe you can just keep it in your pocket?” he offered. “So you don’t have to leave it behind?”

 

Rami hummed. “Maybe.”

 

It was quiet for a few minutes, after that, in a comfortable, contemplative sort of way, and Joe was just starting to wonder what they should watch to round out the rest of their sleepless night when Rami took in a breath. “I need to call Brian and Roger.”

 

Joe looked up at him apprehensively, reminded of the almost-panic attack he’d had when he’d suggested something similar, but Rami seemed to remember it, too, since he looked right back. His jaw was set the way it got when he had his mind set on something. Joe nearly whistled. _What the hell did you two talk about?_ It was like he’d had a complete one-eighty in the span of, what, less than two hours? At _best_.

 

But Joe trusted him to know what he was doing, so he just slowly nodded and handed his phone over. “No texts?”

 

“No texts,” Rami agreed firmly. The phone was the only source of light aside from the one relatively dim lamp in his trailer, which made it all feel a little like an out of body experience, like it was all just a dream. All he had to do was look at the bracelet on Rami’s wrist to remind himself it wasn’t.

 

_Man._

_I’ll be thinking about this for the next few years, for sure._

 

“Not worried about time zones or anything like that?” Joe commented, a little amused. He raised an eyebrow as Rami moved his phone to his ear, and met his _un_ amused stare as it rang.

 

“No, I’m not,” he said flatly, and Joe shrugged.

 

“Suit yourself,” he said, standing up to stretch. This time his back cracked _very_ nicely, and he shook out his arms before sitting back down beside Rami properly and knocking their shoulders together.

 

The call was picked up after four rings, and Joe heard Brian’s tinny voice come from the receiver; “Rami? Is everything alright?”

 

“Hi, Brian, uh, everything is... _okay_ ,” Rami said, sharing a look with Joe. “Everything’s okay.”

 

“Are you sure?” Brian sounded patently disbelieving, but was trying not to be rude about it. “It’s quite late over there, I know that–”

 

“Yes, it is, um.” Rami clicked his tongue and shut his eyes. “Listen, um, can you – could you come over, tomorrow? As soon as you can? You and Roger? To set?”

 

There was a very loud silence on the other end of the line, and Joe bumped Rami’s shoulder again when he bit his lip. “What’s this about, Rami?” Brian asked, suspicious. “If there’s some kind of emergency–”

 

“It’s not an _emergency_ , I just–” He cleared his throat. “I... need to see you in person, to tell you. Joe wanted me to text you, but–” Joe grunted in betrayed shock, and Rami rolled his eyes at him and lightly elbowed him in the side. “This isn’t something that should be said through a _text_.”

 

A few more beats passed before Brian sighed in something like defeat. “And you’re _sure_ this isn’t an emergency?”

 

“ _No_ , it’s not an emergency,” Rami repeated. “It’s _important_ , but it’s not an emergency. I promise.” He then coughed lightly, and said in a very innocent but rushed tone of voice, “But if you and Roger could get here by tomorrow I would really, really appreciate it.”

 

Brian sighed again. “Alright, alright, I won’t ask for any more details. I’ll try to get us there by lunch time, does that sound good?”

 

“That sounds great, Brian, thank you,” Rami said, slumping with relief. They said their farewells, with Rami telling Brian yet again that he was fine, _really_ , and Joe pulled his own phone out of his pocket to try and find something to keep them entertained the rest of the night. _No action; Rami's too picky. No horror;_ I’m _too picky. No rom-coms; Rami hates those._ What else _was_ there? A _documentary_? He thinks _not_. And How It’s Made might put Rami to sleep again, and Joe wasn’t risking him being thrown back to whatever parallel universe he’d made until at _least_ dawn, when hopefully whatever was making this happen in the first place would chill the fuck out in the face of sunlight and let Rami actually fucking sleep.

 

Because he really, _really_ needed the sleep.

 

“What d’you wanna watch?” he asked.

 

Rami shrugged. He was still staring at his phone screen, frozen on the contact page. “Whatever.”

 

Joe rolled his eyes and nudged him until he peeled his eyes from his phone. “Seriously, what d’you wanna watch? I’ll be here all night trying to pick something out.”

 

Rami rolled his eyes right back, locking his phone and leaning around Joe to place it face-down on the bedside table. “It doesn’t matter, Joe, really. Just...” He started running his fingers over the braided leather over his wrist again. Joe could already tell this was going to surpass picking at his nails as Rami’s go-to nervous tic in the future. “Nothing sad, please.”

 

He hummed thoughtfully. “Marley & Me it is.”

 

Another elbow to the gut that had him wincing. “ _Joe_.”

 

“I know, I know.” A beat. “Back to the Future it is–”

 

“ _Joseph Mazzello_ –”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sneak peak at ch. 15:
> 
>  _“We’re not_ mad _,” Brian told them, pointedly ignoring the way Roger turned his head to send him a short glare. “We’re just worried, that’s all. You haven’t exactly given us a lot to go on, boys.”_


	15. brian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOOD lord I teared up writing this bad boy, which I usually _don't do_ , so apologies in advance folks if you're an easy cryer. I may or may not write _one_ more chapter? where rami and joe tell ben and gwilym and it all wraps up and shit, but I figured I'd post this now since it _is_ all technically _done_ (and I already skipped a day yesterday writing this out through the skin of my damn teeth). I am adding a new chapter thing to the fic, though, bc I really do wanna write it. closure is important folks

"Now.” Beside him, Roger crossed his arms expectantly. “What’s this all about?”

 

Roger was a bit more perturbed about Rami’s sudden phone call than Brian was. This might have been because Roger had spent the hours-long drive to set talking himself into believing that Rami was leaving the film for some reason, which was... not outrageous, especially if something serious had occurred involving his family, but Brian was willing to bet this was not the case. Mostly because _he_ had been the one to hear Rami on the phone, and his tone of voice, while vaguely urgent, had _not_ sounded like something serious had occurred involving his family.

 

Roger, despite Brian _telling him this_ , had suitably worked himself into a state by the time he’d finally parked the damn car.

 

Brian could admit that he was equally as concerned, but he was more concerned over how Rami had requested to see them both in _person_ than anything else. He believed him when he’d said it wasn’t an emergency, despite Rami not exactly sounding sure of himself, but that ruled out a lot of his immediate theories, and him insisting that he and Roger come to set was just the icing on _that_ cake.

 

Needless to say, Brian was puzzled, and worried, and Roger wasn’t much better. (In fact, he was quite a bit _worse_.) They both _liked_ Rami, after all, and the idea that something had happened, or _was_ happening...

 

Now that they were here, though, much of Brian’s worry had faded into just plain confusion.

 

Because Rami looked more _nervous_ than anything.

 

They were all in Rami’s trailer – he and Roger on the tiny loveseat that had managed to be squeezed inside, Rami and Joe standing across from them – and both boys looked... well. Uneasy. _Terribly_ uneasy. Joe looked like he’d just swallowed something very bitter, and had one arm wrapped around his stomach and the other hand tucked under his chin, and Rami couldn’t seem to keep still. He was chewing at his bottom lip, fiddling with a yellow bracelet on his wrist, shifting his weight from foot to foot, and very clearly not looking either of them in the eye. Neither seemed sure where to start, or _how_ to start, whatever it was they needed to tell them.

 

Brian was reminded that Rami had said Joe had wanted to text them whatever it was, and wondered why he’d disagreed with him.

 

He watched the two exchange unreadable looks with each other.

 

“We’re not _mad_ ,” Brian told them, pointedly ignoring the way Roger turned his head to send him a short glare. “We’re just worried, that’s all. You haven’t exactly given us a lot to go on, boys.”

 

“It’s, uh...” Joe coughed, and Rami went back to fiddling with the bracelet and staring at his shoes. “Kind of hard to explain. And Rami’s right, sending it over text probably wouldn’t have, uh...” He winced, and scratched the back of his neck. “Flown over well.”

 

“So what is it?” Roger said. Brian could hear the undercurrent of impatience in his voice. “Whatever it is, it’s clearly important.”

 

“And it’s clearly bothering you both,” Brian added. _Though it seems to be bothering Rami more,_ he kept to himself.

 

“We talked about how to share it with you earlier,” Joe explained, gesturing. Brian noted that he was holding Rami’s phone as he did it. “And we decided that, uh, talking wasn’t going to get the point across that well? We don’t really know how to explain it without you both immediately disregarding everything we say–”

 

“That’s ridiculous!” Roger interrupted, mildly insulted. “What on earth could this possibly be about if you think we’ll just _not believe_ you?”

 

They exchanged looks again.

 

“ _Alright_ ,” Brian said firmly, stopping Roger before he could become even more indignant. “Arguing about it isn’t going to solve anything. Whatever it is, we’re _already here_ , boys; you might as well stop dancing around the subject and just _tell us_ already.”

 

They were both quiet for another moment or two before Rami cleared his throat. “I, um, we... decided to tell you the way I told Joe, which means I’m just going to give you my phone and then hope for the best.”

 

Brian blinked, surprised, and Roger said what he was thinking; “Your _phone_?” This was accompanied by a raised eyebrow.

 

Rami nodded tersely, and Joe said, “Trust me, I had to take a while to process everything, too, and I didn’t even _watch_ the stuff he recorded for you– _oof_.” He rubbed his arm where Rami had smacked him, cringing.

 

“He...?” Brian trailed off, cocking his head. ‘He’ as in another member of the crew? ‘He’ as in some random stranger they’d never met? ‘He’ as in Rami himself? Had _Rami_ recorded something for them? And if so, why had he recorded it when he could’ve just _told_ them? _What in God’s name is this all about?_

 

“ _No more questions_ ,” Rami said tightly, to which Roger scoffed under his breath.

 

There was a tense silence for a few moments, during which Joe started playing with Rami’s phone – likely opening it to bring up whatever video they were supposed to watch – before Roger blurted out, “Is someone _threatening_ you?” in outrage. This made Rami’s eyes widen and Joe nearly drop the phone in shock.

 

“ _No_!” they both exclaimed, then started talking over each other. Brian only caught every other word; “Absoutely _not_ –” “Nothing like _that_ –” “It’s just–” “–know how to explain it out loud–” “–believe us unless you see them–” “–don’t even know _how_ –” “–please don’t break–”

 

“I’m so _tired_ ,” Rami whimpered, dropping his head into his hands, and Brian felt a burst of sympathy. _Has he not been_ sleeping _because of this?_ This might be worse than he’d thought...

 

“Okay, that means _you_ are going to craft services and eating something,” Joe ordered, setting Rami’s phone face-down on the tiny coffee table between them all and grabbing his shoulders to maneuver him to the door. “I _told_ you you needed to eat more for breakfast, and what did you say? Oh, _no_ , Joe, I’m _full_ , after eating a _fucking banana_ , Rami–”

 

“Uh...”

 

Joe turned back to them as he opened the door. Rami was still rubbing his eyes. “I’ve already got the video he told Rami to have you watch first up, all you have to do is press play. Just...” Here, he grimaced. “ _Please_ don’t throw it at the wall or anything like that. I’ve got back-ups on _my_ phone now, but Rami really doesn’t want to have to get a new one.”

 

“You think we’re going to try and _break his phone_?” Roger asked, incredulous. Brian couldn’t see his face from here, but could only imagine the scandalized frown he was now wearing. He wasn’t sure he looked much better, to be fair. _So this video is for us, specifically, and they think we won’t believe it when we see it,_ and _that we’ll get so angry over it that we’ll want to destroy Rami’s phone._ This was turning into a much bigger mystery than he’d first assumed.

 

Joe shrugged helplessly. “I mean, I don’t know, but _he_ almost did.” He motioned to Rami, who was staring out the doorway and deliberately not facing them.

 

“...Right.” That was Roger’s patented disbelieving tone, and it made Brian lightly shake his head.

 

“Look, just – please? We’re going to craft services and then going to my trailer. _Don’t_ come find us until you’ve seen everything. Okay? You’re going to have questions, but you have to see everything _first_.”

 

“You realize we’re putting a lot of faith in you boys,” Brian told them uncertainly, looking between them both, and saw Rami hunch his shoulders. “We’re worried, and...”

 

“We know,” Joe said firmly. He seemed much more determined in the face of Rami’s anxiety. “We’re worried, too. This is as much about _you_ as it is about Rami.”

 

Which, as much as he had reasoned out that this all had something to do with them, was still a little unexpected.

 

(Although, now that he _really_ thought about it, the fact that Rami had insisted they be here in person made... much more sense.)

 

But what on earth could be causing Rami this much distress, and _also_ directly affect _them_ – aside from the _film_? Which it clearly _wasn’t_ about, because if it was Joe would likely be just as upset. I mean, yes, Joe _was_ upset, that wasn't debatable, but he wasn’t reacting like _Rami_. He was being protective of him, comforting him, upset because of _how_ he was reacting rather than because it was something to do with him personally, something they were _both_ experiencing, so this was obviously just affecting _Rami_ , not the cast as a whole.

 

As well as, apparently, _them_.

 

“We’ll leave you to it, okay? Come on, Ram.” Joe put a hand on Rami’s back and urged him past the threshold just enough to shut the door behind both of them. Brian heard Joe immediately start berating him for not eating enough that morning and the two of them start arguing about it through the door, but it became very quiet in the trailer when their voices faded.

 

He and Roger looked at each other.

 

Brian coughed. “After you,” he said, gesturing to Rami’s phone. It was still sitting face-down on the coffee table, as innocuous as could be.

 

Roger just shook his head. ”No, no, you go ahead. I still don’t believe someone’s _not_ trying to blackmail him.”

 

“Is _that_ what you meant by ‘threatening’?” Brian asked drily, reaching forward and grabbing the phone.

 

“Well what _else_ was I supposed to think?” He scoffed, irritated, and started tapping his foot. “You know how people are nowadays, stalkers and all that. Who’s to say someone _didn’t_ find his number and start something? This video he wants us to watch–”

 

Brian just shook his head. “Rog, you’re just being paranoid–”

 

“I am _not_ being paranoid,” he insisted. “It’s just _strange_ , that’s all. All this secrecy – it’s rubbing me the wrong way. The way they got all up in arms about it is suspicious, too – how are you _not_ asking more questions about this?”

 

Brian resisted the urge to roll his eyes (Roger’s worry was endearing, really, if moderately misplaced) and instead turned his attention to Rami’s phone, which remained open on the video they were supposed to watch. All he could see was a sink bowl, which was as promising as it wasn’t. _Oh, well. Caution to the wind and all that._ He nudged at Roger with his elbow until he grumbled and leaned closer, and pressed play.

 

“I’m going to assume Rami was able to get you both to sit down and watch this, so I’m just going to start talking, shall I?”

 

What.

 

“Bri, you and I once held a drunken three hour game of strip scrabble between the two of us while Rog and Deaky were passed out in our hotel room that I won and that I had to swear to never brag about because you threatened to tell them I tripped while I was taking my pants off and nearly gave myself a concussion.”

 

... _What_ –

 

“Rog, you and I once made out in an alley after getting done at Kensington because there were some suspicious-looking characters coming towards us and the only way we could think of to get them to leave us alone was to suck face until they got uncomfortable and left.”

 

Brian blinked, and turned to look at Roger, who was staring at the phone with his mouth agape in shock. He said the first thing that came to mind: “You _made out_ with _Freddie_?”

 

“What – I – _yes_ , what the _fuck_ –”

 

“You _made out with Freddie_ and _never told me_.”

 

“What the hell, Brian, when was that _supposed to come up_?!"

 

“I don’t _know_ –!”

 

“ _Now_ ,” the voice through the phone said, loudly enough to cut through their bickering and gather their attention once again. The footage was moving, the camera being lifted from the sink to look into the mirror and show... and... a-and...

 

“ _Freddie_?” Brian couldn’t tell which one of them had spoken, so quiet and listless and broken the voice was.

 

The man on the screen was so obviously Freddie, in every way, from the way his eyes had smile lines at the edges and the way his brilliant grin showed off his overbite, but he was also so, _so_ different. He had a full beard, for one, slightly thicker than even Rog’s and a hell of a lot darker, too. It wasn’t black, but it wasn’t white, either, it was just a lot of salt-and-pepper, and when he pulled off the straw hat he’d had on the hair on his head was buzzed down to not-quite-bald. He had wrinkles, and skin spots, but they weren’t overbearing or unsightly in any way, they were just...

 

They were just proof of age.

 

He’d _aged_.

 

“I recognize this might be a bit much.” _God, his voice is the same._ He was still beaming at the camera. “Lord knows Rami’s had to deal with it three times now, the poor thing, and I can’t imagine it’s going to be easy telling _you_.” His smile dropped a little. “I know you have questions, and I’m going to try and answer them here, but _please_ don’t hound him if I forget something, will you? He hardly knows more than we do.” A beat passed, and then he snorted. “ _’We’_. Brian’s the one who’s spent the last two decades trying to figure out what could’ve possibly caused this, as if his specialty isn’t in _space dust_.” He paused to tap his chin. “Although I suppose I shouldn’t be talking about you all as separate people. Oh, dear, this _is_ going to get confusing.”

 

He cleared his throat and straightened up a little. “I’ll spare you the details for now – I couldn’t do it justice if I tried, anyway – but I will tell you this: somehow, some way, _your_ Rami was sent to _our_ 1975 while he slept. Gave us quite a shock, I tell you, showing up from god knows where, then claiming he was from _2017_ , of all things. Needless to say, he shared some...” Here, he grimaced. “Rather unsavory facts about what was to happen in the very near future. There are other videos on this phone that have to do with that. If you’d like to watch them after this, I won’t stop you – especially your own, since I was the one who told you to record them in the first place – but...” A frown. “I... can’t say I was in the right frame of mind, when I was recording mine. Rami had just told me... well.” He shrugged. “I don’t like to think about it if I don’t have to. _I_ was able to avoid it, but your Freddie wasn’t. Because I’m not technically _your Freddie_ anymore, I hate to say. I haven’t been _your Freddie_ since 1991. Technically, I don’t think I’ve been your Freddie since _1975_ , if I’m being honest.”

 

He shook his head. “Regardless. Things have changed. Obviously, or else I wouldn’t be here.” He gestured to his surroundings. “However Rami got sent here, he managed to make a parallel universe when he did. Can’t blame him, of course; it’s not like he could control it. Changed a lot of things when he did, I’ll tell you that. Namely–” He motioned to himself. “And so here I am, in 2017, helping out on this ruddy film we’ve decided to make. We’ve had about thirty years to think everything over – er, myself and my Brian and Roger, and John, as well – so I’ll forgive you for being a bit overwhelmed, but...”

 

He looked to the side and worried his lip. “We were... all a little afraid fate would decide it needed some kind of payment for letting me go, since 1991, but none of us have died yet, which is good enough for us – and it’s not like we know what’s the same and what‘s different between here and your place. Rami hasn’t told me, and I haven’t asked, and, frankly, I don’t really _want_ to know. If you were _always_ supposed to be in a wheelchair after that horrible car crash in 1995, then that’s none of my _business_ , Rog.”

 

_Oh._

 

He sucked in a breath and let it out. “I can’t even imagine...” He swallowed. “Rami told me that John...” He shook his head. “Just... I know – I’m not there, but... h-hopefully my being _here_ will offer you some sense of comfort? And please don’t be _jealous_ or anything like that, boys, I won’t allow it.” He laughed a little, and wiped at one of his eyes. “I love you all very, very much, I can’t have you being jealous of one another.”

 

A moderately long pause followed. “That was... that was one of the reasons I asked Rami for his phone back. I had to make sure you...” He swallowed again. “Make sure you... make sure you _knew_... In case I - I hadn't...” Another pause, before he sniffled and wiped at his other eye. “Oh, I told myself I wasn’t going to _cry_ ,” he laughed. “Oh, this is a disaster. Sorry, sorry.”

 

He spent the next few seconds regaining his composure before smiling at the camera again, more watery than he had earlier but just as bright. “I don’t know how Rami was sent over here, or why, but I’m grateful, and I’m even more grateful that I can record something like this for _you_ knowing that I’m not there to tell you in person how much you both mean to me. How much you _all_ mean to me, if you wind up showing this to John. Ehm.” He winced and scratched at his beard. “Sorry, Deaky, dear, if you’re watching this. I love you all very much and I want you to know that. I want you to _know that_ , alright?”

 

He then looked at the door. “I’d love to stay and talk longer, I really, really would, but poor Rami – _your_ Rami, that is – is afraid he’s stealing _our_ Rami’s time the longer he’s here – which does make sense, I suppose. The last two times he's showed up he’d been in his own body, but we think he woke up in– well.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’s a bit difficult to explain, isn’t it? Good lord, forty years and this science fiction business hasn’t gotten any easier to decipher, has it? Hmph.” He pursed his lips. “ _We think he’s in our Rami’s body_ , and that _our_ Rami is in _his_ – he’s asleep right now, you know. Or, rather, earlier; I’m assuming you’re watching this at a later date. Oh, good lord.” He scoffed under his breath and shook his head. “This is ridiculous. Just – _he’s getting Joseph to wake him up now_ , alright? I was supposed to go out for breakfast with him this morning since he’s off today, and it wouldn’t do to miss it, even for time travel shenanigans – or – parallel universe shenanigans – oh, what _ever_.”

 

He huffed angrily before clearing his expression to grin at the camera once more. The corners of his lips only twitched a little, though his eyes were more than a bit glassy in the light of the bathroom. “Remember I love you, okay?” His voice – _his voice_ – was just choked enough to be noticeable.

 

And then, he raised his free hand to his mouth, blew a kiss to the camera, and stopped the recording.

 

They were silent for a very, very long time.

 

“Can you play it again, Bri?” Roger finally asked, low and croaking, and Brian just nodded through the tears in his eyes and the lump in his throat, and pressed the play button again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sneak peek at ch. 16:
> 
> _“Oh!” Gwilym exclaimed, surprised. They both suddenly looked like two toddlers who’d been caught with their hand in the cookie jar._


	16. joe, rami

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM VERY SORRY THIS TOOK ALMOST TWO WEEKS good LORD talk about writer's block. this is why I try and not publish something until its done ff
> 
> this could TECHNICALLY be separated into two chapters but Fuck That you guys deserves the whole thing now. I've written and rewritten this probably five times and edited it ten, so if there's any mistakes I sincerely apologize but this is It, the penultimate. please don't hate it <3
> 
> [edit] HOLY SHIT I just looked at the word count and this chapter is almost 6k ff, good news folks I packed some shit in here

“I can’t believe I let you get away with only eating a banana this morning,” Joe said after he’d shut the door. 

 

He didn’t have to see Rami’s face to know he’d just rolled his eyes. “Oh, Joe–” 

 

“Don’t _Joe_ me–” 

 

“You’re worrying too much–” 

 

“Actually, Rami, I think I’m worrying the _perfect fucking amount_ , as a matter of fact,” Joe told him, no-nonsense, and grabbed his arm so he couldn’t escape. Rami didn’t even try to pull away, just dug in his heels a little (though it didn’t do much) as he started dragging him towards the craft services tent. “Even ignoring the fact that you got _sent through time and space three different times_ , you’ve barely eaten _or_ slept in the last day and a half – and _no_ , the two hours you got this morning _don’t count_. You’re getting in bed and sleeping for the next few hours as soon as we get back to my trailer.” 

 

Rami sputtered indignantly for a few seconds before settling, a bit lamely, on, “I – _you_ didn’t sleep last night, either!” It came out half-heartedly, though, and Joe sighed, frustrated. 

 

“ _Yeah_ , but that was, you know, by _choice_. And _I_ still _ate_ yesterday.” 

 

Rami scoffed under his breath, but looked away, sheepish, and the argument fizzled out when they reached their destination. Joe led a him to a free table and sat him down, earning himself a glare that had no heat in it for the effort. All Joe could see were the growing bags under his eyes. “I’m not a _child_ , Joe.” 

 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re older than me, whatever,” Joe said, turning to the food line. “Just shut up and let me coddle you. You’re not invincible, dumbass.” 

 

Rami just shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, but he didn’t try and stop him again. 

 

Joe was half-expecting Rami to be passed out with his head on the table when he returned with their lunches, and was instead pleasantly surprised to see him actively talking to Ben and Gwilym, who were seated across from him. Where those two had come from, he had no idea, but Rami didn’t seem to be any more anxious than he’d been when they’d left his trailer, so they were probably intentionally trying to steer clear of talking about how weird he’d been acting the day before. Thoughtful, if unnecessary; Rami wasn’t an emotional time bomb anymore, so much as an emotional wrung-out rag. If talking it out with Joe last night had been like draining an infected wound, having Brian and Roger find out (in their _own_ time, even if he wasn’t there to see it personally) was like cleaning and dressing it. 

 

“What’s up, losers?” he greeted as he joined the fray, setting Rami’s plate down in front of him and sliding into the seat at his side. Rami's eyes lit up at what he’d piled onto it (Joe’d made sure to pick food he knew he _liked_ so he'd _eat it all_ ), and he knocked their shoulders together in acknowledgement when he picked up his fork. 

 

“Oh!” Gwilym exclaimed, surprised. They both suddenly looked like two toddlers who’d been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. _Ah, so they’d been planning on trying to get Rami to talk about what’s been going on while he was by himself._ He’d known they wouldn’t be able to contain themselves for long. Joe must have disrupted their carefully constructed masterpiece of a plan – and, from the way Rami hummed beside him with hidden amusement, _he’d_ figured out their ulterior motives, too, and didn’t mind. Joe forcibly shoved down the urge to grin. 

 

Ben cleared his throat and stared off into the middle distance while Gwilym tried to do damage control; “Joe! We didn’t realize you were here!” 

 

“Well, believe it or not, I _do_ work here,” he replied drily, feeling only the slightest twinge of regret at the way they both winced. Rami, however, even though he had a mouthful of food, had to raise his hand to hide the smile threatening to break across his face. “I thought you were _good_ actors,” he followed it up with, and Rami really _did_ laugh that time, nearly spitting out his half-chewed food in the process. Joe slapped his back in apology while he grabbed the nearest napkin to wipe at his mouth. 

 

The twin puppy-dog looks of dejection and guilt he got in response made him raise an eyebrow. “We... didn’t want to presume,” Gwilym explained, wringing his wrists over the table, and Ben nodded. 

 

“Didn’t want to make anything worse, either,” he added quietly, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry, Rami.” 

 

“It’s _fine_ ,” Rami told them, crumpling the napkin up and setting it on the table. “ _I’m_ fine. I know you’re worried, I know I was acting out of it yesterday, but it’s not like I’m going to burst into tears at the drop of a hat if you bring it up.” 

 

Which was true. _Because he’d gotten it all out of his system yesterday._ Joe coughed into his fist to keep his mouth shut, and Rami sent him a narrow-eyed look that he very deliberately ignored in favor of stuffing a forkful of his own lunch into his mouth. 

 

“You’d actually tell us if we asked, then?” Gwilym said, genuinely curious. 

 

Ben sounded less sure when he said, “I mean, you weren’t exactly forthcoming yesterday... Although, I guess you _did_ tell Joe...” This part was said more to himself than to the table at large. 

 

Joe snorted and swallowed his bite. “He told me because I’m a persistent fucker and I’ve known him for like a decade. Isn’t that right, Rami?” 

 

“The persistent fucker part more than the known for a decade part,” Rami deadpanned, making him let out an insulted squawk. “ _Yes_ , I’d tell you if you asked,” he addressed the two. “I _will_ tell you, now that you’re asking. This is you asking, right?” Ben and Gwilym nodded quickly, and Rami made a gesture as if to say ‘there you go’. “Just... I mean, Brian and Roger have my phone right now–” 

 

“This has to deal with Brian and Roger?” Gwilym questioned, raising both eyebrows. They both looked suitably more confused than they were at the beginning of the conversation, now. 

 

Joe saw Rami’s shoulders tense up minutely beside him at the reminder that they’d left the two in his trailer mere minutes ago and they had literally no idea how that situation was panning out currently, and loudly cleared his throat. _Time for a slight diversion._ “Y’know what, _I’ll_ tell you: Rami’s pregnant.” 

 

Both men, having leaned in slightly when he’d said he’d spill the beans, sat back on the bench with a groan and rolled eyes, respectively. Rami, at his side, barked out a laugh that immediately disintegrated into hysterical giggles when Joe kept talking; “It was quite the shock, as you can probably guess. He just found out yesterday morning–” 

 

“Joe–” 

 

“–and Brian and Roger are here because he couldn’t decide who he wanted to name the baby after–” 

 

“Shut the fuck _up_ , oh my _god_ , this is _serious_ ,” Rami got out through his giggles, and he even snorted once or twice he was laughing so hard, which made Joe ridiculously smug, even though it earned him a hard punch to his arm. Ben and Gwilym looked like they were holding back their own laughter by the skin of their teeth, which was exactly what he’d been going for. 

 

“Okay, so I might have been embellishing a little,” Joe conceded with a toothy grin. 

 

“I _hate you_ ,” Rami groaned, rubbing at his face. 

 

“I hate you, too. Now,” he addressed Ben and Gwilym, who perked up. “Look. I _will_ tell you. Like, actually, but when we get to my trailer. _Rami_ is going to _sleep_ for the next few hours.” This was accompanied by a pointed look at the man in question, who raised his head to make a face at him before averting his eyes and shifting awkwardly in his seat. 

 

“... _Fine_.” 

 

"Great!” he said brightly, then gestured to his still mostly-full plate. “Now _eat_. Ten granola bars at nine-o'clock at night and one banana this morning does not a good meal make.” This was met with a huff and a grumbled “still _not a child_ ”, but Rami picked his fork back up anyway, so, as far as Joe was concerned, he was the winner here.

 

“You two.” He turned to Ben and Gwilym, watching them straighten up in their seats to give their utmost attention. It was adorable. “Go get something to eat. When you get back, we are going to talk about _normal, everyday things_ men in their thirties and almost-thirties talk about at lunch. I’m not a hundred percent sure _what_ that is, but we’re gonna talk about it.” 

 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Rami muttered under his breath. Ben, however, was hiding his grin behind his hand. 

 

Gwilym snorted. “Of _course_ , sir, right away, sir,” he said grandly, getting to his feet. “Come on, Ben, you heard the man; orders to be followed and all.” 

 

Ben looked like he had to actively swallow down a cackle before clearing his throat, nodding, perfectly expressionless, and following suit. “Yes, yes, of course.” 

 

He and Rami lasted about two seconds after watching them walk off before sharing a look and bursting out laughing again. 

 

– 

 

Five minutes after giving him his noise-cancelling headphones and having him lie down on his bed, Rami had passed out, which just further illustrated how _fucking exhausted_ he was. Joe was viciously thankful they had the day off, because he couldn’t imagine Rami trying to work like this. 

 

Well. He _could_ , actually, because Rami was un-fucking-believable sometimes. Rami could probably get run over by a car and try to come into work the next day smiling. It was unreal. 

 

(It was also the reason he’d been trying so hard to act unbothered while talking to Brian and Roger, which clearly hadn’t _worked_ , because Joe had been able to see the worry on their faces from a mile away. It was as infuriating as it was admirable.) 

 

(It was more infuriating than it was admirable.) 

 

“He really doesn’t look well,” Gwilym said softly, and Joe turned to them, seeing the concerned tilts to their brows and the worried lines of their mouths from where they were seated in the tiny little chairs he had available in his trailer. 

 

He sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Yeah. He’s gonna be alright, though.” 

 

“Is it really that bad?” Ben asked, fidgeting with his hands nervously as Joe picked his way over to them. (His trailer really wasn’t the tidiest place in the world, he could admit.) “We thought... well...” 

 

He shared a look with Gwilym, who coughed into his fist, uncomfortable. “We thought, er, something had happened – a family member in the hospital, something like that...” 

 

“Well.” Joe flopped down in the chair beside Ben bonelessly, wrestling his phone from his pocket and unlocking it one-handed. “I thought that too, actually. What it actually is is, uh...” He closed his eyes, grimaced, raised a hand to gesture aimlessly into the air. “Really. _Really_ hard to explain. ‘S why we just left Rami’s phone with Brian and Roger; trying to talk about it from the first stop wouldn’t really get the whole thing across that well. You gotta actually understand that it _happened_ , first.” 

 

“...That it happened,” Gwilym repeated blankly, and Ben blinked at him, utterly lost. 

 

Joe groaned, using his free hand to run over his face. “I know, I know, it’s just – it’s how Rami explained it to _me_. Or, uh, got me to listen, rather. With his phone, I mean. I... don’t actually know, if I would’ve believed him without the videos. I thought it was just really good photoshop, at first – I mean, you know–” 

 

“Joe, stop babbling,” Gwilym said, giving him a flat stare. “You’re really not making much sense right now.” 

 

“Don’t say _that_ ,” Ben scolded, leaning over to elbow Joe’s arm. “Just give us the phone, mate.” 

 

Joe rolled his eyes when Gwilym muttered, “well he’s _not_ ” petulantly under his breath and Ben whispered back, “do you want him to tell us or not?” 

 

“You guys are really just the kings of subtlety,” he said flatly. “I’m _amazed_ you’re not working for the secret service right now, it’s incredible.” He scrolled through his own camera roll as they both started arguing over _that_. Rami had texted everything over, but he’d made sure to save all of it properly so they’d have a back-up in case Brian and Roger really didn’t take it as well as they hoped they would. (They hadn’t come storming over to confront them about it yet, though, so they might, in fact, be taking it well. One could only hope.) 

 

(He wondered, distantly, what the hell Freddie Mercury might’ve recorded for them, before shoving that train of thought very, very far away. It really wasn’t his business.) 

 

He reached the video he wanted them to see, and handed it over to Ben. “This is what I watched that convinced me Rami wasn’t... well... I don’t wanna say _crazy_ , ‘cause that’s kind of insensitive – really insensitive, actually – he didn’t wanna tell anyone _because_ they would’ve thought he was crazy, after all – hence, you know, the proof–” 

 

“ _Proof_? What–?” And Gwilym was cut off after leaning over to get a look at the screen by Ben pressing the play button. 

 

– 

 

Rami woke up with a snort and a twitch. He raised a hand to rub at his eyes and ended up nearly slapping himself in the face when the hand he rose wound up feeling heavier than he expected it to be. 

 

“Rami? What are you doing waking up over there?” 

 

“I dunno,” he mumbled, rolling onto his side and flinching back when his head made contact with hard plastic. He pushed himself onto an elbow and opened his eyes to glare at what he’d hit, only to find the headphones Joe had given him sitting innocently on the pillow below him. 

 

“Well, that explains it,” he heard Joe say, and spared him a glance when he stood up and cracked his back to walk over. “You’re a light ass sleeper, dude.” 

 

Rami sighed a little and sat upright. That was, unfortunately, true. He wasn’t gonna be able to get back to sleep for at least an hour, now... _Oh, well_. He _did_ feel slightly more awake than he had earlier, though. (Not awake enough to say he’d probably gotten as much sleep as he should’ve, however, which sucked.) 

 

Before Joe could reach his side, a knock came from the door that sounded painfully loud in the ensuing silence of the trailer. 

 

He and Joe shared a look. 

 

There weren’t many people who’d be visiting Joe’s trailer right now, except... 

 

Joe was at the door in less than three steps. Rami cursed his position on the bed; the angle he was at meant he couldn’t see shit when he opened the door. He clenched his teeth when Joe then immediately _closed_ the door and just stared at it for about three seconds. 

 

He swung it back open again. “Brian! Roger! Hi! How are you!” 

 

Rami shut his eyes. _That’s Joe’s fake happy voice. This is not good._

 

“...Not any worse for wear, I suppose,” he heard Brian say from the other side of the door, and winced at his tone of voice. He didn’t sound _angry_ , which was a blessing, but... well. Honestly, it was completely unreadable, which was in some ways _worse_. Not being able to see his expression didn’t help. 

 

 _Damnit. Damnit, damnit, god-_ fucking _-damnit._

 

“C-Cool! Um–" 

 

“Is Rami here?” he heard Roger ask, in an equally unreadable voice, and Rami opened his eyes again to watch Joe let out a full-body twitch. 

 

“ _You know what_ , he’s actually, uh, sleeping, right now–” 

 

“I’m awake,” Rami spoke up. He tried to inject as much confidence as he could into his voice, but it still came out a little quietly, moderately faint from sleep (and growing nerves). It caught everyone’s attention, though. He even saw Ben and Gwilym, from where they had been sitting mostly obscured in the chairs Joe had in his trailer, turn to look at him with wide eyes, and he fought back the urge to shrink under their gazes. 

 

“Rami!” Joe exclaimed, and his face, from where he’d thrown his head over his shoulder to look at him, screamed _what the fuck are you doing_. “Uh–” 

 

“Can we talk to you, Rami? Please?” Brian called from outside, still in that painfully emotionless tone. 

 

“Privately?” Roger added. 

 

Rami wasn’t sure what expression he was wearing, but whatever it was made Joe’s shoulders go taut. “Uh, give us a second,” he told them quickly, and then he shut the door in their faces. 

 

“Joe, what the _fuck_!” Ben whisper-shouted, face white. Gwilym also looked a bit speechless. 

 

“Don’t ‘what the fuck’ _me_!” Joe whisper-shouted back, whipping around. “Did you _see_ the looks on their faces?! They were _pissed_!” 

 

Rami felt a cold ball form in his gut, and he bowed his head. “They were not _pissed_ ,” Gwilym said firmly, sounding very sure of himself. 

 

“No?” Joe rounded on him, pink in the face. “Then what would you call that? _Moderately grumpy_?” 

 

“ _No_ , you idiot–” 

 

“Don’t call me an idiot–!” 

 

“Joe, I can talk to them,” Rami said, interrupting what was sure to be a giant spiel that would culminate in Joe refusing to let Brian and Roger interact with him for the rest of the shoot. Which, while sweet, in a way, was, to put it frankly, unavoidable, even if Rami wanted that outcome – which he _didn’t_. Hiding from it wasn't gonna solve anything; it would only make it worse. 

 

Joe turned to him, expression going from growing rage to growing concern in an instant. “...Rami–” 

 

“No, Joe, really,” he insisted, climbing out of the bed and cracking his neck. The icy knot of nerves in his stomach wasn’t going to go away unless he actually _talked_ to Brian and Roger, and he couldn’t do that if Joe kept them out and kept him in. “I’m an adult; I can handle it. Honestly.” 

 

Joe shifted uncomfortably before looking away. “I just... I don’t want them doing anything...” 

 

“They’re not gonna kick me off the film, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Rami joked, though, uh, he... wasn’t actually sure about that. _Don’t think about it._

 

Joe huffed out a breath, and he saw Ben shake his head and Gwilym cough into his hand out of the corner of his eye. “That’s _not_ what I’m worried about, but I’m gonna be worried about it _now_ , thanks.” 

 

“Don’t be,” he said simply, walking over. “ _I’m_ supposed to be the most anxious about this, not you, remember?” 

 

“Well, _someone_ has to be,” Joe grumbled, crossing his arms, and he probably would’ve rolled his eyes if he wasn’t so on edge. 

 

“ _Look_ ,” he said, nudging Joe’s arm with a lightly-closed fist. “It’s gonna have to happen eventually. Better do it now than put it off. It’ll kill me if I try to.” He paused, watching Joe chew the inside of his cheek and stare at the ground. “Besides, they still have my phone.” 

 

That made the other three all laugh a little, although Joe’s was still the most brittle. 

 

There were a few seconds of silence, where Joe continued to stand purposefully between him and the door. “I could probably convince them to get one of us to come with,” he offered thickly, and Rami snorted a little. 

 

“Thank you, but it’s okay. Really,” he reiterated, trying to sound as sure of himself as he could, and reached over to really start nudging him to the side. The way Joe actually let himself be pushed meant that he’d officially stopped trying to argue. 

 

He put his hand on the doorknob and turned to Ben and Gwilym. “Can you two get him to calm down, please?” 

 

That, as he’d anticipated, made Joe angrily start in on how he didn’t _need_ to calm down, damnit, and Ben let out a startled snicker. “Abso _lute_ ly,” Gwilym said, getting to his feet to grab Joe’s arm and tug him over to the only free chair. He continued scowling at Rami, who just sent him a perfectly innocent smile and opened the door so he could ignore the way his eyebrows were still furrowed in worry. 

 

He stepped out into the cool, almost-evening air, and shut the door behind him. 

 

As he did, the ice cube in his stomach turned into a goddamn glacier, and he shoved his hands under his armpits when he turned back around to face them. He wasn’t quite brave enough to look either of them in the eye, so he kept his gaze fixed on the ground, instead. 

 

But, uh– “Oh,” he blurted out, blinking at his socked feet and wiggling his toes a little. “I – forgot my shoes...” That’s what he gets for being a nervous wreck, trying to escape the clutches of another nervous wreck (although _that_ one had a side order of mother hen syndrome, _thank you_ , Joe). 

 

“Oh, Rami,” he heard Brian sigh, and then he was being enveloped in two warm arms and pulled in against a broad chest – Roger, then. Rami couldn’t quite contain his surprised squeak, and, since they were closer in height, he was able to raise wide eyes over Roger’s shoulder to Brian, who was standing a step or two away and looked... 

 

Well, he definitely didn’t look _pissed_. 

 

“Um...” he got out, only moderately high-pitched, and Roger squeezed him one more time very tightly before pulling away and holding him at arms’ length with his hands clasped on his biceps. His face was carefully blank, but his eyes were bright with tears, and Rami’s breath caught in his throat. 

 

Roger didn’t say anything, just held him there for a moment or two before dropping his hands and letting Brian step forward to draw him into his _own_ hug. This one made Rami squeak, as well, but Brian just pat his back decisively. “You don’t have to look like we’re going to tear you apart, Rami, Jesus.” 

 

“I, um,” he stammered, and felt Brian bend down to press a kiss to the top of his head before he, too, pulled away, though he did keep one hand on his upper back. “Um, I-I–” 

 

“How are you?” Brian asked suddenly, and Rami raised his head to blink at him, more than a little stunned. His eyebrows were knitted with careful concern, the way they'd been earlier. 

 

“I’m... _good_ ,” he said, not liking how it almost came out as a question. He looked over at Roger, who’s arms were crossed and who was staring right back at him. 

 

“Better than this morning?” Brian prompted, and Rami huffed out a laugh through his nose. 

 

“Yes, Momma Joe made me eat a full plate at lunch,” he said drily. 

 

Brian hummed. “Were you _expecting_ us to be angry?” he asked softly, and Rami’s mouth opened and closed a few times, avoiding eye contact. What was he supposed to say to _that_? Yes? Maybe? Who _wouldn’t_ be a little angry that some actor you only met like a year ago got to go back and see one of your best friends and basically save his life in what can only be described as a science-fiction _miracle_ while you... _didn’t_? 

 

“W-Well,” he settled on. “Not... _angry_ , I guess, just... it’s... a lot to process, and–” 

 

“We’re _old_ , not _senile_ , Rami,” Roger quipped, voice gruff, and Rami flushed. 

 

“That’s not what I–” 

 

“We _know_ that’s not what you meant,” Brian interrupted, and Roger rolled his eyes. “And yes, it _is_ a lot to process. To tell you the truth, it was probably a good thing you left us in your trailer to go through everything how you did.” 

 

“You did, then?” Rami wondered out loud, looking between the two of them. “Go through everything, I mean?” 

 

“We did, yes, and I have to admit, seeing ourselves doing things we have no memory of was quite... _peculiar_ ,” Brian confessed, and Roger snorted with little humor. 

 

“It gave me damn whiplash, is what it did. Seeing myself at that age in high-definition...” He let out an exaggerated shiver. “Like the Twilight Zone.” 

 

“Uncanny Valley,” Brian agreed with a thoughtful nod, and Rami raised one of his hands to run through his hair. “Now, we _did_ have some questions–” 

 

“ _You_ had some questions, you mean,” Roger specified, sending Rami a meaningful glance that made him have to shove down the urge to grin. Instead, he brought his other hand out to start fiddling with the yellow bracelet on his wrist. It’d been less than twenty-four hours and he’d already gotten used to the weight, as slight as it was. 

 

Brian glossed over what Roger’d said entirely when he continued, “ _However_ , we’ve decided they can wait for another day. We just wanted to give you back your phone and make sure you were alright.” 

 

That was... incredibly touching, and definitely not necessary, not when... “I... well, I _am_ , now, but I should be asking _you_ that–” 

 

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Brian scoffed, waving off his concerns. “We’re better off now than we’ve been in years, I can tell you that much.” 

 

And, when Rami looked closer, he could tell it was true. Even though both of their eyes seemed too bright, too on that edge, their faces were open, their shoulders straight, standing tall. It wasn’t _quite_ like a weight had been lifted from them, not really, but they didn’t seem quite so... heavy, now. Like a few pounds had been taken away, but not the whole thing. He wasn’t sure how to describe it, but there was no denying that _something_ had changed from when he’d last seen them five hours ago, and it was a good change. 

 

The ball in his stomach that had been steadily thawing finally dissipated into a bloom of warmth, and Rami nodded slowly. “...Good,” he said quietly, and they both firmly nodded back at him before Roger dug around in his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone. (Rami’s phone, that is.) 

 

“Here.” He handed it over, and Rami shoved it into his own pocket as soon as he could so nothing would happen to it. There was at least one back-up, now, but one could never be too cautious. 

 

“We’ve already text everything over to the both of us,” Brian told him, wrapping his arm back around his shoulders and pulling him in for another hug. _Three back-ups_ , Rami corrected himself. “So we want you to either go back in with Joe and get some more sleep, or go back to your own trailer.” He shook him a little. “Alright?” 

 

“Yeah. Yeah, alright.” 

 

“Good.” Brian let him go, and Roger moved forward to hug him again, too. Rami returned it, this time, squeezing him back just as hard. 

 

When he let go, he cupped his face to kiss his forehead, pulling back to look him in the eye. “I’m not Brian; I don’t really care _how_ it happened,” he explained, as unflinchingly as he could when his voice was noticeably choked with emotion. It made Rami’s heart hurt. “But I’m glad it did.” 

 

“We _both_ are,” Brian added softly, ruffling his hair when Roger let go of him. “You’ve given us a lot to think about. Now go get some sleep.” His voice raised to a normal volume when he considered aloud, “Better yet, go get some dinner; it’s around that time, isn’t it?” 

 

“I think so...?” The sun was near the horizon, from what he could see, but it hadn’t dipped below it yet. 

 

“Yes, go get something to eat first, and take Joe with you,” Brian said, in that fatherly voice he used on set when he wanted someone to listen to him without having to yell. It made Rami’s lips twitch. “Freddie wouldn’t want you disregarding your health like this because of him, you know.” 

 

Roger snorted a little thickly, scratching at his cheek. “He’d be breathing down both _our_ necks going on about how _we_ weren’t treating you right. As if you aren’t a grown man who can take care of himself. Pah.” He shook his head and waved a hand dismissively in the air. 

 

“Well, that’s true,” Brian admitted with a tilt of his head, and Rami chuckled a little, ignoring the burning behind his eyes. 

 

“I’m sure Joe wouldn’t argue with that.” 

 

“Good! Now _go_ ; we’ve got to get back before it gets a bit _too_ late.” Brian pat his back one final time before pulling away. 

 

“Yes, and spend the entire car ride home arguing about how to tell _Deaky_ ,” Roger added, rolling his eyes. If Roger looked like he was dreading nothing more, Brian looked positively _thrilled_. “I am _not_ looking forward to that.” 

 

Rami gave him a sunny smile that he met with a pursed frown and Brian met with a hearty chuckle, and they turned away from each other at the same time, Rami reaching for the doorknob as Brian and Roger began walking back to where they’d parked, _already_ arguing. 

 

Joe would’ve been on him the second the door shut if Ben hadn’t decided at that moment to almost tackle him back into his chair and sit on him to keep him there. This led to Joe yelling a lot of very articulate things, the most eloquent of which was “what the FUCK”, while Ben and Gwilym smiled at him genially. 

 

“Rami!” Gwilym greeted pleasantly. “How did it go? Well, I’m assuming?” This was accompanied by a pointed look at Joe, who stopped cussing so he could get a better look at Rami around Ben. 

 

“It did go well, Gwil, thanks,” Rami said. He literally couldn’t stop grinning, and he rubbed the back of his neck a little shyly. “Really well, actually.” 

 

“I _told_ you–” 

 

“Shut the _fuck up_ ,” Joe said with no heat, finally succeeding in pushing Ben off of him (purely because Ben had been getting up anyway). He didn’t surge to his feet to check on him, but his leg bounced anxiously with the need to move. His face was oddly serious for the several seconds it took for him to register Rami’s expression and body language before his entire body seemed to sag with relief. “ _Oh_ , thank god.” 

 

“God, you really _are_ a mother hen,” Ben snickered, not even bothering to move out of the way when Joe reached over to slap him. 

 

“Everything’s settled, then?” Gwilym asked, batting his eyelashes and making Rami raise a hand to his mouth to keep from giggling. His entire body was bubbling with happiness, nigh _overflowing_ with it, now that he didn’t have to worry about Brian and Roger anymore, that he didn’t have to try and keep it a secret from Ben and Gwilym, either, that it was sinking in deep that it was alright. That everything was _alright_. “No missing body parts? No blood spilt? Everything’s intact?” 

 

“Yes, everything’s _fine_ ,” Rami laughed, moving away from the door and further into the trailer. “They wanted to wait a little to ask me about it. Brian’ll probably just text me whatever questions he has, knowing him.” He narrowed his eyes at Joe playfully, placing his hands on his hips. “And he made sure to tell me to actually _eat dinner_ today, too.” 

 

“Y’know what? That’s a _great_ idea,” Joe said loudly, getting to his feet. “Come on, losers, we’re going to a gross diner and getting some gross food and I’m buying. Fuck diets.” 

 

“ _Amen_ ,” Ben said with relish, and he and Gwilym stood, as well. 

 

“What d’you want, Rami? A burger? Pizza? Gimme an idea, any idea–” 

 

“Sushi?” Rami offered with a smile, just to see Joe scoff in disgust. 

 

“I said a _gross diner_ , Rami, sushi does _not come from a gross diner_ –” 

 

“I say greasy breakfast food,” Ben put forward, raising a hand. “All for?” 

 

“Aye,” Gwilym agreed, raising his own hand, and Joe pointed at him and said, “ _Fuck_ yes. Greasy breakfast food it is. Come on, shoes on, everybody – aw, Ram, you went out without shoes–” 

 

“It’s _fine_ , Joe,” he told him, grabbing his arm when he came close enough and stopping him before he could reach his sneakers over by the door. “Really. It’s better than fine. _I’m_ better than fine.” He waited for it to really, really sink in that nothing bad had happened outside, that the confrontation could barely even be _called_ a confrontation, and watched the anxious energy still vibrating within him seem to seep out into the floor with the heavy sigh Joe let out. Before he could do more than run a hand through his hair – and before he could apologize for being so worked up (something he couldn’t control, and something Rami was as thankful for as he was mildly amused and annoyed by in equal measure) – Rami smirked and said, “Stop worrying or I’ll kick your ass.” 

 

Joe gaped at him, stunned, and Ben started cackling. Rami’s grin widened as Joe’s face reddened. “Okay, asshole,” he said, lips twitching. “I distinctly remembering promising to _noogie_ you yesterday night–” 

 

“ _No_ –” 

 

“ _Too late_.” The step back Rami had taken at the threat was in vain, as Joe just dragged him back in and put him in a headlock tight enough to keep him in place so he could rub his knuckles into his scalp hard enough to burn. It didn’t hurt so much as it was mildly embarrassing, and Joe let go of him almost immediately, anyway. Rami still punched his arm when he did, massaging his head with pursed lips and narrowed eyes at Joe’s disgustingly pleased expression. Ben was biting his hand to keep from laughing too hard, and Rami went to slap at him, too, but he just moved away to avoid it. 

 

Gwilym, looking above it all (which was all a ruse, because Rami could see the way he was stifling his own laughter from miles away, the traitor), pushed past them all to open the door and pointedly gesture outside, where the sky was rapidly darkening. “I believe we were promised some greasy breakfast food? Yes?” 

 

“Ugh, _fine_ ,” Joe groaned, sounding put upon, and he kicked Rami’s shoes over to him when he went to put his own on. “I’m getting an entire plate of bacon for myself and none of you are going to stop me.” 

 

"Oh my god, that’s so _gross_ ,” Ben said, making a face and sticking out his tongue as they all stepped outside. 

 

That started up a very heated argument about the benefits and drawbacks of eating nothing but salty pork fat as a meal while they headed towards Joe’s car, and Rami, at the back of the group, found his fingers rubbing over the yellow leather on his wrist as he smiled to himself, letting the words wash over him. 

 

The sense of contentment he felt at that moment lasted well into the next week. 

 

(Even when Brian texted him, two days later, “Roger is convinced that this all has something to do with aliens.”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and there we go.. hopefully this is a conclusion with some sense of closure. may or may not write rami & freddie's 2017 interactions from chapter 14 if it comes to mind, but I can't guarantee it so I'm not adding another chapter and making you wait. its completed as it is. if you see this updated with seventeen chapters, though, you'll know why ;)


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